It was the first full night’s sleep I’ve had in a week. For real.
Four hours the night before, and five hours or just under for each of the preceding six nights. I’ve been propped up on coffee and chocolate, fighting a desire to sleep sitting up. Granted, on a “normal” night, I manage six hours. But this slew of scanty segments of sleep? Dreadful. I’m dragging.
My insomniac sagas aside, last night’s seven hours brought genuine relief, and a dream reminding me of the ironies of our desire for success and the possible consequences when we achieve it.
I won’t belabor this (or even make it pretty) – my task of to-do’s for the day is far too extensive. (Oh, to be listless even occasionally! Oh, to have regular hours that offer pockets of day or night that are exclusively my own! But that’s a subject for another day – the 24/7 nature of being on call (one way or another) – too true for too many of us.)
Dreams Remix Reality
My dream? One contradiction after another. Courtly and contemporary. Dark and light. Shut out – and shut in.
My nighttime imagery was undeniably infused by a combination of reading the New York Times, and a late dose of Andy Cohen interviewing Jill Zarin, and their discussion of Bethenny Frankel.
I found myself picking my way through a massive and odd industrial city – not New York, though it could have been the Batman-Burton view of Gotham. Yet it resembled London somehow. Clusters of buildings that soared to great heights, yet others that wore the spires of centuries ago.
There were crowds moving slowly, shuffling really, with a decidedly downtrodden step. A 20-something young man, lithe and dressed as a court jester, skipped among the lines of people, then reached deep into a large tapestry purse and began tossing gold coins and Euro bills into the air, as the crowd scattered to gather their share of whatever they could.
(The infamous 47 percent? The 99 percent? Some weird version of income distribution?)
Tripping the Light Fantastic
As for me, I was in that crowd, trying to make my way to an appointment. I was distracted by something more important to me – a sudden lightness in my limbs (and no pain in my back or injured arm) – and it was thrilling.
I was elated, giddy; I felt 30! I began dancing! I was lost and found in the fullness of my body’s functioning.
Money to be scooped up from the ground?
At that moment, currency (in all senses of the word) was of no consequence. Only freedom from pain (again, all interpretations) – and tripping my own light fantastic.
Then two middle-aged Asian men passed by in trench coats, singing in low voices. It stopped me cold. It was a Russian drinking song I’d learned in high school, and used as a means to break the ice when traveling as a teen in the USSR, my language skills at the time – so-so.
I turned, smiled, and joined in as we finished singing together, their somber expressions transformed into delight. When the song was over, we chatted and discovered that we were high school classmates!
But I had to take my leave – I was due to meet my new employer – Bethenny Frankel.
The Price of Success
I continued through the throng and arrived in front of a large, nondescript building. I went up in the elevator, and stepped out into a television studio where Bethenny wore a big smile as she completed filming a segment. She walked briskly off set to audience applause and slumped on a pile of boxes nearby, closing her eyes.
In person, she looked beautiful, yet so fragile. She seemed exhausted, fatigue showing in her face, in her body language, in her stillness.
After a few minutes she opened her eyes and turned toward me, said “hello” in that unmistakable voice, and we introduced ourselves. She said there was something familiar about me. I explained I had run into her years before, and actually helped out with a small project. Then someone came by with her little girl and a baby – in my dream, she’d had her second child – and she looked at her children with great tenderness and, still, the exhaustion.
“It’s so isolating,” she murmured, and slipped back into silence.
We walked to another area of the building where she apparently resided, and I don’t recall the details after that. But I woke feeling great sadness for those who “make it big” and are then trapped by it, pulled down for it, constantly barraged with requests for this or that. They’re judged for what they do, what they’re accused of doing, and what they don’t do, or simply isolated by their own success – however they define it – and the desire of others to capitalize on a piece of it.
Interpreting Dreams
I thought about Jill Zarin, in the interview on television with Andy Cohen, as she expressed her sense of being “left outside in the corridor.”
We’ve all felt that way at times. Then again, if we’re the ones who sense that everyone wants a piece of us – you might say while those who won’t leave us alone are locked out, we’re relegated to being locked in.
As I sit here, capturing these scenes in words before they evaporate (and before my first cup of coffee), I’ll have a good deal to mull today, if I have the time. I’m left strikingly aware of the reality of ambitions, motivations, and dreams – not to mention what happens “live” as we actually work our way into them.
Sometimes, dreams are fulfilling. Other times, they trap us. Often, we’re left with a world that is darker, heavier, and more complicated than we ever imagined. This doesn’t mean we would go back – and likely we can’t – but the price of success may be considerable, the burdens we carry filled with pain, and those moments of lightness and connection – warmly received.
Click image of Bethenny to access original video clip at BravoTV.com
© D. A. Wolf
Lisa says
Dream interpretation has always fascinated me. Sometimes I think they are very profound reflections of my psyche. Other times, I believe they are the product of too much garlic in my pasta! The ones that feel so real that they shake me to my core when I wake up are the ones that scare me most.
teamgloria says
ah, yes, the loneliness of those-that-reached-the-pinnacle (only to find that there’s nowhere to go but down the other side, in shadow).
lovely and poignant post.
on another (chocolate) note – you inspired us to write this: http://teamgloria.com/2012/10/16/chocolate-and-chandeliers-and-paris-vosges/
waving from manhattan.
_teamgloria x
Kristen @ Motherese says
I think you and Bethenny both deserve a chilled Skinnygirl Margarita!
I didn’t see Andy Cohen’s interview with Jill Zarin, but I have been vaguely aware of her frustrations since being dismissed from RHONY. Perhaps this is one of the risks of our reality culture: people ascend to fame for no particular skill and then are left rudderless when their soapbox is whisked out from under them. I’m not worried about Jill: she has the money and the acumen to stay afloat. But some of these other people – the soon-to-be-former cast members of Jersey Shore come to mind – where will they end up?
Privilege of Parenting says
Hi BLW,
It seems your dream has called to me, so I throw in my two cents (but, of course, am always wishing you well).
The Londonish city is your palimpsest Self, the multi-layered history ranging from primitive (Celts and before), to mystical (Druids and Arthurian Legends), to conquering (Roman), to dramatizing (Shakespeare), colonizing (sun never sets…), to modernizing, monetizing, sleuthing (Holmes) and social justice (Dickens). We thrown in New York and perhaps Blade Runner to get the complexity of the stew.
The downtrodden aspect of self is confronted by your Trickster—the Truth Teller, comic and foil (the leaven in the sad sour dough of ash and soot). He has a tapestry purse, in other words his place of value, the cornucopia or well or womb/vagina, is a bright and pleasant weaving of ALL the narrative threads.
The Trickster tosses about both gold and currency; symbol of sun/alchemy/transformation; and of energy symbolized and signified. Your own relationship to money and to business is here revealed in your deep wish to GIVE and this recognition (of the figure lithe, sprightly and abundant) restores you to vigor, joy and health.
Asian Men in “trench coats” which are related to both Noir/detective figures but also to “trenches” (the horror of war, mass graves, getting stuck in ruts). Yet again you transform, this time by way of song, a song related to drinking or “spirits.”
Next you meet your “employer” which is symbolic of some higher self, the Godmother, if you will. She is both a reality TV personality, pretty, etc. but I also think of the allusion to Viktor Frankel and human kind’s search for meaning—particularly the power to give (which is what saved and transformed Viktor in the face of collective darkness).
The girls are brought in, these are your newly born child Selves. Thus this is a fabulous dream about good fortune, hope, love, spirit, song and psychological re-birth. It bodes very well for you—the deep Self is happy with you and giving you the true treasure.
In waking life you must continue to heal any lingering trauma that you store in your body… try in your imagination to “play the jester” and imagine him/her magically healing you though this minstrel dancing and playing. Sometimes one analyzes, but sometimes one just moves the chi, even if in imagination.
Dance wildly before the mirror, toss coins about the place—demand your imagination back and call it along with your spirit into the body that finds safety, peace and play.
You have so much currency/energy to be spent wisely and joyously. The worst of it is over (or at least I very much hope for you).
It brings to mind Isaiah and something about being sold for no price and redeemed for no price—the notion about consciousness and true liberation (coins of a rather different realm perhaps).
Yet none of this is about escaping reality, body, aging… rather about finding that you already have a rich and open heart (the well endowed tapestry purse) and thus joyously and fully reclaiming your child-mind, your citizenship of the world and your mojo.
XO, BD
BigLittleWolf says
Wow, Bruce. Much here to process! (Very cool.)
enchantedseashells says
Wow, I thought I had some dreams, but you win, and good job for remembering, I know how elusive it can be! Maybe it was the chocolate you ate?? I used to love the RHONY, and the satchels of gold comment was the best ever, but those women all became cliches to me, and lost their individual eccentricities that made it so fun to watch their slice of life. Great post!
BigLittleWolf says
Satchels of gold! Of course! Thanks for that reminder, Enchanted! (Glad you enjoyed.)
Walker Thornton says
What a rich, complex dream and how wonderful that you were able to capture it for us.