A hectic two-week jaunt to the Midwest left me exhausted and anxious. A frustrating feature of the aging body is its inability to recover quickly from tiring experiences. My days were filled with fatigue and fighting a bug (not COVID). My nights were filled with recurring dreams of cleaning.
In one memorable dream, I moved to a large house and found the closets filled with the leftovers of a hoarder. As I cleared one space, another space appeared, also filled with garbage. New neighbors pitched in to help, but I could sense their own frustration over time. There was dirt and grime everywhere. In a similar dream, I could not locate the trash bags. Debris was moved from one space to another with no end in sight.
A secondary theme: I was trying to join a band that was being directed by a woman. In another dream I joined a youth orchestra for part of their tour. Meanwhile, back at the house, a stack of my piano music appeared in the clutter. I noticed my new-found friends eyeing it: would they toss it? Anxiety arose.
I don’t interpret dreams literally, but recurring easily-recalled dreams are usually addressing a concern and are fun and therapeutic to explore. These dreams are easy: I was feeling out of control while Life was messy. In daytime, I have been considering some options for music. At night my brain was working out possibilities. Don’t worry, Kyla, I am not going to pop into your orchestra rehearsal with my flute.
There is relief when the “message” of the dream is realized. Like receiving a medical diagnosis: now I can do something about it. Acknowledging the toll of travel and my concerns for going forward in life was enough to end the dreams. At least until the next upheaval.