I’m running through a forest of trees, the predator not far behind my steps. I get into the square metal building just in time. I’m breathing heavy, leaning against the steal door. The velociraptor breaks through the window and is working through the blinds as I open the door. He (or she — I really can’t be sure) reaches to bite my leg.
I wake up.
I’ve had that dream every time I watch Jurassic Park and have since the first time I’ve seen it.
I don’t really understand dreams. I don’t mean that I’m attempting to analyze them — because I think that’s a bunch of bull. What I don’t understand is why my brain makes things up as I’m trying to get a good night’s sleep.
Dreams occur most often during the REM cycle, according to Psychology Today. That may explain why there are certain periods in my life where I’ll dream for months at a time. I’m assuming that’s when life gives me more time to sleep.
But then why can’t I remember all of it when I wake up? Dr. William Dement said there are no proven answers to that question. However, his best guess is that we have evolved to the point that our body won’t let us remember our dreams because then we wouldn’t be able to differentiate a dream from a memory.
I’m lucky in the fact that I rarely have nightmares. But I think sometimes good dreams can turn out to be bad dreams. What if I dream about the job I want to get and I get it — but then I wake up? What if I’m trying to forget something good that’s happened in the past that I know will never happen again? I’m already trying to block it out; why is my brain bringing it back to me when I was just beginning to forget?
Craig Hamilton-Parker believes that once a person understands the interpretation of the dream, it “can solve many of life’s problems and bring about internal harmony and well being.”
What if I don’t want harmony? What if I just want to forget? Or I don’t end up getting that job? That’s definitely not solving my problem.
One week later I had my very first job.
Two months later, I got my very first truck. It was a 72 Ford pick up truck with no engine or air conditioning, but it was free. My dad bought the incredibly cheap engine. I called her Blue….because she was blue.
I paid for the gas. I paid for the insurance. I’ve done my own taxes since after that first year (with the help of TurboTax). I’ve done my own laundry since I was a teenager. I knew how to vacuum and do the dishes (without a dishwasher!) and dust the crevices before I left the nest.
I’m thankful for my parents everyday. I wouldn’t have been able to buy my first car at the age 19. I wouldn’t have been able to buy groceries in college. I wouldn’t have moved straight to New York City without knowing a soul and with very little money right after graduating from undergrad.
When I see the spoiled young children that come into my work and are given whatever they want, I feel sorry for them. Well, that and I want to teach them some manners. But they’ll depend on someone until the day that they die because no one is going to teach them how to be truly independent.
Sometimes I call my mom to ask her where in the grocery store do they keep chicken bouillon. Sometimes I call my dad and ask if my birthday present can be that plane ticket for when I come home. But I’ve been able to make it on my own with minimal help from others because my parents knew that I would have to enter the real world eventually. And I wouldn’t change a second of my upbringing.
Except for when I chopped my Barbie’s hair off. Lesson learned.