Was it a Panic Attack or the Meaning of My Life?
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For the first time in a long while, I woke up last night and couldn’t get back to sleep. I think I was having a mild panic attack. My mind was filled with so many different To-Dos, worries and what ifs.
Maybe it was just the total silence and complete darkness of this wilderness spot we are parked in this week. After all, we’ve been around nothing but noise and traffic for the last month and a half, and getting used to silence again takes some doing.
Or maybe I’m overly concerned about how we are going on two years now and still living off our savings, doing what we love but basically living on a wing and a prayer that our plans will take flight and our book will make lots of money. We have to believe that it will. It’s what Jerry would do.
When my mind finally pooped out and I fell asleep, I had vivid dreams of my Grandmother, aunts and my Mother. They were huddled together in the kitchen of my Mom’s house, talking about whatever and really just kind of enjoying themselves. The same as I always remember them.
Later, I think I understood the meaning of that dream. My grandmother and her daughters lived a pretty sheltered, cloistered life and rarely ventured outside of their home. Actually, I don’t recall them ever talking about friendships or new adventures of any sort. They lived a structured, routine life and never strayed from it.
My subconscious, I suppose, is telling me that the fear in my head is a good thing. I’m getting out. I’m living life. This is what it’s all about.
Right?
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