I’m not one to believe that the answers to life, or future events, are hidden in a person’s dreams. Not too long ago, I was nearly heckled out of a community college psychology class when I divulged my belief that dreams were meaningless, (which was almost as bad as the time I told my history class that the President shouldn’t cry in public).
That being said, I realized this morning that my dreams seem to have a reoccurring theme: anxiety. In the last few weeks, my appearances in the dream world have consisted of the following:
- getting my lunch stolen by an ex-coworker;
- floating down a crocodile invested river with no raft or shoes;
- getting stuck in a cruise ship elevator on the seventh floor while wearing an oxygen mask; and
- driving aimlessly through a random town with shotty breaks
Obviously, all anxiety provoking events.
But strangely, the hypochondria rarely rears its head in that world. Aside from a recent dream—in which I found lumps in my brain and liver when my organs were laid out on a cafeteria table for inspection—the health component of my anxiety is virtually non-existent.