I have dreams. Haunted, vivid dreams; dreams that are hard to shake. Scary movies give me bad dreams. I saw the Blair Witch Project on premier night, before all the parodies, and I couldn’t sleep all night long. My nightmares kept waking me up.
Not long after Ed and I were married, I was sound asleep when Ed had insomnia. He went downstairs to sleep on the couch. I woke up briefly, saw the empty side of the bed, and then I had such a vivid dream of him cheating on me that I woke up in tears and ran downstairs to find him.
The dreams I remember are usually not the happy kind.
But daydreams are different.
When I was younger, I was always daydreaming. I would have the staring-out-the-window blank-look-on-my-face kind of daydreams. I would daydream about the books I was reading. Through the wardrobe I would go, into the land of Narnia with Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy. In my daydreams, Scarlett O’Hara would realize that Rhett was way better than Ashley. Or I would daydream about TV shows. Of course I would be A.J.’s girlfriend, the blond-haired blue-eyed cutie pie half of Simon & Simon!
Back then, my daydreams were wonderful. They were necessary; they helped me survive some difficult preteen and teenaged years. I was able to lose myself in those daydreams.
Nowadays, my daydreams are much more mundane.
How can I organize my pantry?
Would I be able to make that cute ear bud detangler thing I saw on Pinterest?
What blog post will I write next?
They have to have a practical spin; there’s not much fantasy going on in my mind these days. While I used to lose myself in a daydream plot for days on end, now I’m often brought back to reality rather quickly. There’s always someone to feed, errands to run, teaching to do. I haven’t lost myself in a daydream in a really long time.
Sometimes I wonder if those daydreams are lost to me. If I’m just too old for daydreams anymore. But then I think about my life. I have such happiness that there’s not much need for daydreams any more.
I think about myself with white hair, sitting on the porch at a nursing home. My face is full of wrinkles like a crumpled piece of paper. I tilt my head toward the sun. My eyes are closed as I lose myself in a daydream; a dream of those who have gone before me; of those that I loved and those who loved me. Of the life I have lived.
Those will be daydreams worth having.