Midlife Dreaming
As I drove up to the house, I could tell that it was supposed to be where I grew up. Everything was familiar enough for me understand what it represented in real life but different enough to be unique to this particular dream. The car was an old Bronco and not the station wagon from past family road trips. The long driveway wound to the top of a grassy cliff with a rocky outcrop, a much more extreme landscape then the backyard hill that I sledded down each winter. The house was a 70s rambler and not the split level that I could navigate with my eyes shut. But when the cliffside started to collapse, I felt authentic fear for my childhood home.
I went into the house and found a younger version of my parents. I wasn’t frantic, but I could see sections of the hill disappearing. I told them we needed to take action before it was too late. The back and forth is hazy, but they weren’t mobilizing.
We were in the kitchen, and I took a moment to take in the yellow paint, the Formica countertop, and the tacky chandelier. My eyes rested on the hardwood floor, discolored from years of use. A section started to warp. Plank by plank, pieces started to sink. I knew what was coming, but I couldn’t seem to get us out the door.
The room changed orientation, and I could feel myself falling backwards. I punched through the kitchen window now above me, looking for something to grab. As my surroundings started to move, I realized I couldn’t save my parents. I could only, possibly, save myself.
I didn’t get through the window. The house fell, and I fell with it. I braced for getting knocked around, but that didn’t happen. I was free falling, then suspended. I waited. There was no noise. There were only my clear thoughts.
Nothing is slowing us down.
We will fall until we hit the very bottom.
I am going to die.
I awoke, my body pumping with adrenaline and my mind fully aware of the layers of symbolism embedded in the dream. I talked myself down in my head and fell back asleep.
Midlife is a fulcrum. We balance the needs of multiple generations, those ahead of us and those behind. Both sides are like a mirror into one’s past and future, showing glimpses of how it was and how it might look down the road. Child becomes parent, and parent becomes child. We need to tap into our shared familial experience enough to have context for understanding yet stay separated enough in our own identity to remain objective and healthy. We look to lovingly nudge everyone, including ourselves, in the right direction, while continually trying to figure out the definition of “right.” It’s joy and mess and love and anger. It’s knowing so much while knowing so little.
How does one maintain equilibrium among the fever dreams and complicated realities? I’m not quite sure. After this particular night, the best I came up with was getting out of bed and walking into the new day with eyes forward, cup of coffee in hand, and feet gratefully planted on the ground.
