Sunday morning I had a dream of myself at 10. I am rollerskating through the neighborhood and wearing this filmy pink nightgown that my grandmother had given me for my “dress-up box.” I used to wear this over my regular clothes and run or skate around with my friends, who were also dressed up in funny, older clothes. In the dream, I am skating in this outfit through lawn sprinklers, and I am happy. So very happy and joyful and laughing.
As I awoke, I saw that image morph into another from that time period. I used to dream that my father was a terrorist holding my family hostage. Unless I met all his demands, he would blow my mother, my grandmother, and my grandfather up. This Sunday morning, it wasn’t my father as the terrorist, and it wasn’t my family as the hostages. It was me–me at 10 years. I was the terrorist holding the gun, and I was the hostage. If I did not meet my terrorist demands then my life would be destroyed.
Two images of my life — one carefree and joyful, the other constricted and miserable.
I’ve been talking with my teacher about the need to free up my life to allow more time to just be and let creativity percolate. I run around so busy with my self-imposed responsibilities to others. I was ranting about this to my husband Friday evening — because I have “responsibilities” and I am “dependable,” I can’t just let things “drop!”
But I am holding myself and my life hostage, and that needs to stop. And that bomb needs to be replaced by some green and white rollerskates!