Meg Evans

Recently, I’ve been forgetting the details of my dreams very quickly when I wake up. About all I remember is seeing lush vegetation, rather like a jungle, in places I’ve never been in real life. When I try to grasp at the dream to keep it in memory, it vanishes anyway, as quickly as flipping a switch.

Then I wake up, see that my house has new windows, and feel cheerful. This morning, I said “Yay” when I opened the blinds in the family room. I’m getting the impression my dreams may simply be telling me that I need those “Yay” moments and the healthy mental growth they inspire—and, as well, that I shouldn’t be overly worried about keeping track of the details.

Last night I dreamed that I was designing a children’s game in which a character tried to avoid getting stuck in splotches of peanut butter. In the dream, I wrote a post on this blog describing the project, and then a manager at a game company saw the post and offered me a job.

I am not a game designer in real life, and I am allergic to peanut butter and always avoid it. So, my guess is that the dream most likely was telling me to work on designing a life where I can do a better job of avoiding sticky and unpleasant situations!

Last night I went to bed wondering what I might do to be happier. It’s not that I was unhappy about anything in particular, but staying cheerful when winter’s short, dark days arrive is not always easy.

My subconscious mind obligingly answered the question by putting the disco song “You Should Be Dancing,” from the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack, in my head when I woke up.

When I went to do a rowing exercise on the Hydrow machine in the early afternoon, I set it to play disco and funk songs during my 10K row, which took about 48 minutes. “You Should Be Dancing” wasn’t one of the songs, but it definitely did put me in a more cheerful mood!

Perhaps because I’ve been reading historical novels, I dreamed that I was a young medieval princess. Unfortunately, that wasn’t a good thing to be. Some rebel faction had killed my father and taken over the country, and they wanted to dispose of my mother and grandmother—literally, as in “off with their heads.”

All of us were walking along a path toward the execution grounds, with a jeering crowd on both sides gleefully anticipating the spectacle. The rebels weren’t quite vicious enough to murder girls, so they were going to lock me in a dungeon afterward, along with my baby sister. My mother was holding the baby, who blinked sleepily at me when I offered to carry her.

“Don’t take her from me yet,” my mother said, in a voice that allowed no argument.

I kept moving, one foot in front of the other, telling myself this didn’t have to be real. If only I had enough faith, then it would all go away. Quietly, I began saying a prayer as I walked.

“Dear God, please let me be dreaming. Let this be a nightmare. Let me wake up.”

Surely, God was more than powerful enough to change the world around me, making my life completely different. I pictured the hostile crowd melting away, taking another shape—flattening out, turning into the covers on my bed. They couldn’t hurt anyone because they never existed.

Waking, I found myself in a completely different life, just as the prayer had asked. It took me a moment to sort out which version of me was the real one!

I woke up this morning with a dream in my head that wasn’t entirely clear, but its theme definitely was mindless repetition. I had been banging my hands against something hard—maybe a brick or stone wall, I can’t quite remember—and every time, I said “Ow,” and then did it again, like an automaton.

Evidently, my subconscious wants me to quit doing something thoughtless and futile that is hurting me. Perhaps it’s related to another dream I had recently, in which I had to back up when there wasn’t enough space to walk through construction vehicles. I still haven’t figured out where in my life I might need to change direction, but my dream-self seems to be prodding me to reflect on it more.

I dreamed last night that I was walking through a muddy and cluttered construction zone, full of heavy earth-moving machinery, while holding a baby.

The baby was old enough to talk, at least a little, and seemed to be very unhappy about being carried through such a big, scary place.

“Don’t drop me!” the baby said.

“I won’t,” I promised.

Just after that, I turned a corner around where several large construction vehicles were parked, and I found myself boxed into a narrow space with nowhere to go forward. I couldn’t do anything but back up, as carefully as I could manage. The baby started to cry. Then I woke up.

Looking at how to interpret this dream, one thing stands out: A baby and a construction zone both represent something new being created. Maybe I’ve been trying to do too much (as shown by the clutter) at once, and my subconscious mind is cautioning me not to lose my grip on what is most important. As for being in a place where I needed to back up, that probably means there’s something I need to quit doing—some aspect of my life where I need to reverse direction—because it’s not getting me anywhere useful.

Although it’s generally good to be open to new experiences, a reminder not to overdo it can be useful.

What does it mean when you suddenly disappear in a dream?

I recently dreamed that I walked into a quiet, ordinary living room and was looking around. The room had white walls and white furniture, sort of like this photo:

Then my body vanished from the scene, but somehow, I was still there looking at the room. While I was trying—without much success—to make sense of how that could have happened, I woke up.

I’ve been wondering how to interpret that dream, and my best guess is that I feel lost in ordinary routine, searching for myself against a backdrop of plain white walls. Where do I want to be, really? And how do I keep myself from disappearing before I find it?

Of course, many of us are having such thoughts these days—so I’d say that dream was a sign of the times.

I woke up in the middle of the night, face down with my arms stretched out wide, in Superman position. I felt as if I had been flying. But unlike Superman, I did not have long-range vision to see everything on the ground. Instead, everything below me was foggy, and I had no idea what was down there.

That didn’t worry me, though. It seemed like a good thing, actually, because I was in motion and not stuck in some tiny, isolated spot way down in the trees. Maybe I didn’t know where I was going, but at least I had the potential of finding somewhere better. Super possibilities ahead!