Fast Forward to Regression

a blurred image of an actor on stage

As crazy as it may sound, life met me exactly where I wanted to be in three months: unemployed, at home and figuring the next ten years of my life out. Although I can admit that no one could have dreamed up the collective anxiety, concern and feeling of being brought back to the ground we are experiencing. It is a heavy energy only comparable to the New Year’s celebrations; a moment that carried a sense of foreboding with its intense beauty and what we experienced in the days following the celebrations. I knew there would be multidimensional shifts; I just didn’t consider that something that will probably be called the biggest catastrophe since WWII would propel those shifts.

BUT, here I am. On my mother’s couch, loathing the day I decided I am going to quit my job and focus on the arts a final time before possibly giving up every little inch of ground covered that I have gained on the journey so far for the Purgatory of going through changes... again. I’m not even sure which I regret thinking more: that I could safely quit my job and find something better almost immediately, or thinking that I could stomach being home— practically trapped in the facebrick covered walls— for longer than two weeks without feeling both like a nuisance and completely incapable of maintaining the sanity of being youthful, independent and capable of turning things into the vision I left home for in the first place.

It is such a strange thing to attempt living out dreams; right before the you get the lucidity of the moment, the best part is snatched away by waking up to the crushing weight of “reality” and its pressures after the night. It is so sobering and masochistic to know a dream so well, but barely be able to trace it and describe the details when you’re awake. It evades you. You remember the hues, you seem to build a rough sketch of the characters and location involved, but the end always seems to be three days later, when you have a murky remembrance of the plot and a ridiculous trail of logic for the point of the dream, or why it persisted in your memory so well upon waking from it.

I really wish I could remember my dreams better. Right now more than ever.

There are so many fragments missing for this part; so much needed and necessary information to make this part worth it. It’s probably the most difficult phase of my single, adult life. I may not ever be alone with, for and by myself more than this season ever again in my adult life and it feels like I have no stability for it... no one to know how to help this part of the journey out exactly, and a strange feeling that I may not have a complete hold of myself either.

Peers I have in abundance, thankfully; folk to get lost and confused with on the way to finding new spaces and progressed forms of the Self with. We just don’t know what we’re doing though and it shows. It is the most frustrating thing about this all... we love each other, but we truly have no powers to save our own livelihood, never mind the other. SO we take turns watching each other drown and shouting supportive words like ‘I know what you mean’ and ‘you just gotta hang in there’ and ridiculous and nonsensical shit like that. I don’t even know why I do it anymore. I’m lying, I do know why.  I really liked the hues they described in their dreams as much as I loved the hues that still stink up my senses when I think back on my own. I believe in what we saw. I believe I can still dream through this, even in the uncertainty.