I had a dream recently.
I was floating a few feet above the ground in a room with no light, pitch black, and I didn’t hear the word, but I felt it. I was the word, “Inadequate.”
I woke up, and wished I was still asleep. I lay there for an eternity, grappling with my own mind and heart, trying to will a different word, a different feeling, some spark of light in the dark room. But, it didn’t happen.
Most of my adult life has been lived in a perpetual state of forward-facing belief. I believed in my passion for art and people, in an ability to overcome and persevere, that somehow one of my hundreds of ideas would finally get traction, and move forward in some type of significant way, but it hasn’t.
I seem to spend more time looking back and seeing where I missed the mark and failed to capitalize on opportunities.
My wife asked me about it this morning, because she hasn’t seen the spark in a while. I’m rubbing the sticks together, and banging the rocks, but it’s not there, man. It’s a dark place.
I’m not looking for sympathy, in fact, I don’t even know why I am writing or sharing this. Maybe I’m just looking for the light at the end of the tunnel and hoping it’s not another train or just grasping for something that is there, but I can’t see.
Does anybody feel me?