Dream

In a Word with Jacey Verdicchio

Welcome to the companion podcast to the In A Word newsletter! This is episode three: dream.

My husband dreams about traffic on the way to the airport. Not day-to-day traffic, but the kind that makes him detour into the entirely wrong city. He dreams that he is at a crowded restaurant, with a large party, and they can’t find his reservation. The group assembled behind him is a crashing of his worlds: a grad school mentor, an acquaintance who’s moved, his niece. He wakes up knowing he didn’t miss the flight, or fumble the reservation, but he can’t shake the anxiety. His body reads the subconscious stresses as gospel, even as his mind points to fact.

I have been dreaming lately of the past. I dream about people I haven’t thought of in years that once meant the world to me. I dream of acquaintances that meant little to me. I dream of things I’m too afraid to know, memories I no longer trust. In the dark, while I am safe under the covers, my mind works them out. Upon waking, I allow myself to ask if my dreams are trying to tell me something, if God is. Dreams are figments of our imaginations. But sometimes they’re more true than what we tell ourselves in the light of day.

And then there are the dreams we’re desperate to translate into reality. Dream jobs and homes. Dream vacations and dream days. I’m not opposed to such dreams, though I’ve been wondering what’s behind them lately. I’m convinced that usually, the job, the house, the baby isn’t about the tangible thing itself, but how we want to feel. Maybe owning a home feels like security, achieving a professional goal or having a child feels like significance.

This is the tricky way we begin to put existential stakes on the tangible, changeable pieces of our lives. So I’ve begun to ask myself what I really want when I set my sights on lofty dreams. I might never stop seeking meaning or security or confidence through new jeans, an organized pantry, or accolades, but I’m at least going to be honest about what I’m really aiming for.

And here’s my deep hope: that the big dreams my generation has been taught to chase would extend beyond us and outgrow us. That our big dreams wouldn’t simply be to serve ourselves, but to serve the world. That we could keep a kernel of vision untouched by cynicism, turn our collective gaze from our navels to the world. This is the big dream. I don’t know how to get there. I should probably start with organizing this closet, right?

(Not a complete transcript of the episode, but other written pieces can be found in the newsletter proper!)

Thanks for listening!

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