"It's a very rare person who is taken for what he truly is."
I forgot about this piece of dialogue for my last weekly checkup. It kind of fits into what I wrote for today.
Molly Grue: 'Please! Please do something!'Schmendrick the Magician: 'What can I do? Do you think the Red Bull likes card tricks? If I could, I would change her into some other creature, some beast too humble for the Bull to be concerned with. But that would take a real magician with real magic, and I can't pretend anymore...'Molly Grue: 'But you do. You have magic. Maybe you can't find it, but it's there. You called Robin Hood, and there is no Robin Hood. You have all the power you need if you dared to look for it.'
Oh, and a bonus. A Bob Dylan song that I enjoy listening to, and is relevant to this post (not a fan of the video, but I do love the lyrics to this song--I can't believe I only remember as I went to publish this post): "A Series of Dreams" .
Throughout my adulthood, I have had lucid dreams. They have usually come in waves, and most often before or after an important life event. A series of weird and interesting ones appeared in the months leading up to my first child’s birth. Another series, dark and uncomfortable, showed up a year after my first teaching job ended. These lucid dreams shed light on my unconscious thoughts. I gain a better understanding of internal hopes, conflicts, or fears. Ultimately, some watershed event inspires a resolution. Both the birth of my daughter and the death of my mentor brought respective ends to the preceding collections of lucid dreaming.
I have found that the more time I spend reflecting on a dream, the greater the intensity and frequency of subsequent dreams. Therefore, analyzing my dreams is so important to me. I have even made it an essential part of my journal writing. Over the past two months, I have recorded quite a few memorable ones. However, not all have been the pleasant kind. Yet, even the uncomfortable dreams have something to reveal to me.
The morning of last Wednesday, after experiencing such a pair of dreams, I rushed out of bed in order to write them down. The first took place backstage at a concert hall; the second, at a meeting in a classroom. The same person, a friend, appeared in both. And, for both, a long-held belief about myself was the root cause.
In the first dream, the sky was black, but there was an eerie glow, so it was not quite so dark out (watch Tron: Legacy, and you will understand). I was driving my daughter’s friends through a parking lot that felt full, though I could not see any individual cars. It did not seem to matter at the time, because I was heading towards the back of the concert hall. On my way there, I noticed another car and the driver: it was my friend, the mother of one of the girls in my car. Despite my waving, she drove past me without looking in my direction. In the next scene, I found myself walking around backstage, remarking how clean and clear it was in the wings and behind the curtains. Yes, I said this aloud to anyone who would listen (in this case the group of girls from the car, whom I soon realized, did not care). And I felt, in my dream, so proud that, having been a stage manager, I could notice and appreciate such cleanliness. With that sense of pride, I walked out on stage, not because I was supposed to (the purpose of the event never came across in the dream—yet, I was certain at the time that it was not about me), but because I felt I had something important to contribute, information that the audience would want to hear.
Then the mood shifted. Under the bright lights, I was not able to see the audience, though I could feel them watching. At that point, I began to hesitate. As I crossed from stage right to stage left, lifting the microphone to my mouth, ready to say some words, I stopped. Within the dream my mind had doubts: did I really know what I was talking about and was it even true what I had to say? I would lower the microphone, take a few steps, lift it up, open my mouth, then remain silent. The crowd, which now included my friend, the girls, and a lot of strangers, said and did nothing. But I sensed them, and the blank stares they were giving me. And the waiting. By the time I crossed to stage left, I felt like a complete fool. There was clearly judgment, but it was not coming from the crowd. It was coming from me.
And that is when I woke up, took mental note of what I had witnessed, rolled over, and attempted to fall back asleep.
Which brought me to a second lucid dream. It was shorter than the first, but no less impactful and insightful. This time I was in a room full of teachers. I was going to be working with them for the first time, and we were discussing classroom management. It was my turn to talk, and, in the dream, I could hear myself think, “remember, they have been doing this longer than you have, so speak less, listen more. Make sure they know that you respect their wisdom.” And at that moment, my friend entered the room. It turned out these other women were her colleagues. Once again, as I began to open my mouth, I shut it. That fear of saying something foolish began to collect inside of me. The process of getting ready to speak, thinking it is wrong, and then remaining quiet, repeated itself several times. During that, I could feel my friend and her fellow teachers watching, staring blankly at me, waiting. All I could feel was ignorant; I so desperately did not want to appear stupid. Again, there was that judgment. And, again, it was coming from inside me.
I awoke, lifted my head up, stared down into the pillow, and thought, “Damn. WTF now?!?!"
Although awkward, these dreams are not a complete surprise. Over the past few months, I have been engaged in copious amounts of introspection. People, ideas, and events have pushed and pulled on various threads of my brooding thoughts. My own writing has been a mirror through which I have begun to draw patterns. These dreams, along with a dozen other ones, are gifts from my unconscious. They have helped me bring into focus two difficult issues I am facing right now.
First, I have been struggling with adding a new dimension to my blog, one that would require me to express my analysis and opinions on different topics. I would be putting myself out there in new way. It would require a degree of confidence I am not familiar with. It frightens me.
In addition, I have been contemplating a return to teaching. It would be nearly six years since I stood in the classroom. In no way do I consider myself a bad teacher. Enough of my former students, and their parents, have thanked me; my co-workers have reassured me. However, education has changed. And if I end up in public school the rules will be different from my private school experience. I find the prospect of returning to the classroom daunting and intimidating.
In the end, it comes down to knowledge. For me, it is true that “the more you know, the more you realize you don’t know.” Learning is a passion of mine, but it is a double-edged sword. Gathering information and analyzing it ends up uncovering more of my ignorance. With each private attempt I make to blog about current issues and events, ideas and trends, even books and movies, I find myself doubting my thought process and conclusions. With every article or comment I read, or conversation I have, about education, I discover that I have so much more to learn.
Now, it is okay to feel ignorant. Every one feels it at some point in their lives. Well, every intellectually honest person does. It should drive us to stop, observe, gather, analyze, and react. Ignorance is part of the human condition. But so is the fear of humiliation. And, unfortunately, the internet and social media have exacerbated the humiliating parts of being wrong and making mistakes. Now it is a social crime to say something that ends up being wrong or do something that is not correct. So embarrassment slides into humiliation.
Like most humans, I do not like to be humiliated.
But, I think my unconscious is telling me—among other things—to speak up and get out. Write the blog posts I want to write; tell the stories I feel passionate about. Teach people what I have learned; demonstrate the tools I have used in order to navigate this complex reality. However, do so with a sense of humility. Choose my words carefully. Admit when I am wrong. And above all, I have to hear what other people have to say, any critiques they have to give, the wisdom they have to share. It does not mean that they themselves are correct, or what they have to speak about is relevant or useful. However, if I want to be heard, I need to also listen.
In the end, the judgment is coming from me, not anyone else.
Maybe, now, on the heels of these two vivid, lucid dreams, I can finally include some new additions to my blog, and pursue, in earnest, a return to education. I am certain that these kinds of dreams will not stop coming at me until I have done something to resolve these emotions.
Historically, for me, these resolutions have come from outside forces.
However, maybe it is time I take action and settle these two internal conflicts on my own terms.
(To be continued…)
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