You know how sometimes you have to be polite and listen to people you hardly know recount the dream they had the night before? What’s great about blogs is you don’t have to read any of them out of social pressure.

Well, I’m going to describe the dream I had early Friday morning only because if you pretend it was your dream it could be a mini self-help.

I would not have been able to handle Friday if I didn’t have this dream in the morning. It felt more like an experience than a dream.

How I Handled the Reality:

First of all, my daughter and I worked through an urgent problem she was having in school by texting back and forth. Yes, we broke the rules. Sometimes the best way to solve problems.

Then the lawyer’s office postponed my appointment. Just the usual pace in the git-r-done arena. I just changed my day of leaving early on our office dry-erase board.

Then the big deal phone call. My STBX needs to be divorced on Monday for some reason. After a few phone calls back and forth to the legal assistant and her talking to my attorney, it didn’t take any “wisdom to know the difference” to know that this is a legal proceeding between his “separated over a year” ass and the state. Not my stuff…

…except for the emotional part. One good thing about cubicle farms is that you can cry in private facing your computer monitor and get paid for it.

Between those sessions of release, I did my job, socialized with co-workers, and called and got support from my family during my breaks. I called a friend who was crying when she answered the phone, and I was able to help her with something she was struggling with.

I just was, felt and did. What else is there?

The Dream:

The ocean is tumultuous with layered shades of deep blue. The sky is tumultuous with layered shades of deep blue. There is only me. I have found the sweet spot in riding the wave in, where I am perfectly centered between water and sky as they churn in opposite directions. I feel so light! Like the balsa wood planes my cousin and I used to buy at the general store across from my grandmother’s. My arms are outstretched, the air and water are the perfect temperature to be refreshing, and I blissfully call out that this is the way it’s supposed to be. I’m right where I need to be to ride the wave in. The ride is like the long, smooth flight we loved to get with one of those little planes. I am not thinking about time or the ride ending.

When the ride is over, it’s time to take the podium. First, second, and third place, but we don’t care who is where. Our podium is built upon sandcastles, but we are so light they support us. We are at the edge of a precipice, but the others don’t care, so I don’t either. They are two happy Zen monks dressed in deep red robes, conversing in a foreign language. My link to their culture is my love for British Philosopher Alan Watts. I say his name, they nod and smile, and the Western chick is in. We just face the ocean. This is our ceremony.

As I write out the dream, I realize this can be a ceremony as I look back on each day before I go to sleep. Or it could be my eulogy.