I often have vivid dreams, mostly things that are fantastic or just plain weird. But sometime my dreams tell me exactly what I need to hear. Last night was one of those occasions.
I dreamt that I was at a resort, somewhere with a large coach park which reminded me of school parking duties - dust, stones and aching boredom! I was collected by a floating pod which whisked me away up an outcrop which reminded me of The Lost World. There were openings off to the side to various environments - forest, jungle, city and so forth. I was taken to a beautiful estuary, very Devon/Cornwall. There was a wooden structure, like a shed, overlooking the estuary and with one side open to the water. It was a cozy version of Dylan Thomas' writing hut with a comfy day bed, an antique desk and a kitchen to make tea. There was a deck with creaky wicker chairs and cake on a low table. Bliss.
On the desk was an old typewriter and a pile of smooth creamy paper just asking to be written on. Muscle memory is a wonderful thing and I threaded the paper into the typewriter, pushed the carriage return and began to type. When I read what I had typed I saw that the letter 'e' was missing. The arm and key were there but there was nothing to print the letter on the paper. Suddenly I saw an old fashioned intercom on the desk and I pressed a button. A machine-like voice answered and I explained my problem. A replacement typewriter would be provided. I made tea and sat outside. I then realised that when I had spoken to the machine we had used words without using a single letter 'e'!
The new typewriter had a working 'e' but as I typed I saw that the 's' was missing. This continued as more typewriters were brought in and more letters were missing. At no point before I woke up did I have a machine with all the keys functioning at the same time. Very frustrating. Yet when I woke I realised that what my subconscious was telling me was that I was failing to get on with my writing because I kept finding excuses not to do it. I have all the resources I need, all the time I need and yet I find more and more reasons not to sit down and write.
Self sabotage. I recognise this well, it's something I've been guilty of at various points in my life. I have something deep seated within me which doesn't want me to succeed. I seem to be scared of success, of accomplishment. And I'm not sure it's not too late to do something about it. But I will keep trying, even though it scares me that I may get there one day.
What's holding you back?
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