I'm at turns bewildered, empowered, super tired, and vaguely elated. Because it takes me longer than the average person (I think) to process this type of life adjustment, it's a challenge to blog about it. But guess what? It's March Madness, and I'm willing to give it the old college try. Though I risk turning you immediately away from this post, I am forced to begin with a line that instantly kills any interest I might have in a conversation: So...I had this dream.
Still with me?
Said dream occurred about two years ago, and it's the only one in my life from which I awoke in a fit of uncontrollable weeping. Simply put, I was in a number of scenarios in which I believed I was fully participating. There was a ride in a horse carriage, a party at which much photograph-taking occurred, dinners at restaurants, etc. A jolly good time, if you will. But eventually I realized, a la Bruce Willis in that whatever-it-was-called-movie, that I was not at all participating in these scenarios because I was...cue spooky music...dead. Then suddenly I was standing in a windy spot somewhere with my father, who was able to see the barely-there me, the bit of me still left. I gave him a hug. "I have to go," I said. And he said, "I know."
And then I woke up, as noted, weeping and attempting to recount the dream to my spousal unit (I'm sure I was fairly incoherent). I am not one to invest an inordinate amount of time deciphering dreams, but this one was a clear call-to-arms. A year later, I finally understood that my childhood, which had lasted 41 years (41 years! how lucky am I?), had come to an end.
So now here I am a grown-ass woman with grown-ass responsibilities that I'm doing my very best to meet. I won't go into details because I want to protect the privacy of others, but I will say that I think I'm doing good. I was a good kid, after all. And good kids turn into good grown-ups.