My interest in the art of the essay became apparent when I realized it was easier to dissect my own experiences and exploit them for literary gain than it was to create a new world on its own. I have written my fair share of short stories. Those inklings of an alternate realm that come to you like a memory, though you're sure you haven't experienced them before, and the plot or line or character trait is far too rich to leave in a note labeled "potential." It is clearly no secret that I've swiftly become a stranger to the essay world in the past months. I've become all consumed with my source of steady income that my hobbies and habits have fallen to the wayside. Any hobby or after hours activity I had ready in my holster had begun to collect dust; layers accumulated after I stopped brushing it off with a false sense of hope that I would pick it all up again. My inability to write has left a pit in my stomach that only recently has driven me to want to break my own cycle. Not by choice, not by motivation, but because it would seem my subconscious has already made that decision for me, via a dream I couldn't have even written into a short story if I tried.
To have dreams that wake me up thinking "okay universe, I get it" is not an uncommon occurrence. To have dreams I wake up and immediately dissect has become almost like an off-handed character trait. To have dreams about work, however normal it may be, has always led me to understand what level of stress I'm under; often plaguing me more than physical strain. I've struggled with heightened panic attacks since January, my first one leaving me to feel like I was having a heart attack and the medicine leaving me feeling like I would much rather have the chest pain. My weight fluctuated and my ability to eat healthy to maintain what I do have came under fire. Though none of that has rendered me as useless as any mental attack has and the dream I had four nights ago and am still thinking about is a complete testament to that.
Taken straight from a "I need to get this out or I will forget it all" text sent to numerous people, I give to you the dream that made me realize I needed to stop worrying about if I really needed to transition and began to worry more how to.
I started in a group of people, hearing a siren go off. Somehow subconscious/other world-ly/multi-dimensional Chey knew that meant Zombies were coming (I know, just stick with me.) What I came to understand was if you found yourself within a metal structure, no zombies could reach you. In a yard was a metal jungle gym, the half-circle shaped ones, and that I threw a sheet over and treated it almost like a tent. Remember this. I remain inside this structure with a few other people, hiding from a flock of Zombies (a flock? a gaggle? anyone?) and I, for some reason, decide I'm going to sacrifice myself so no one else has to be eaten. (Another shred of information that doesn't make sense, when do Zombies stop at one human?) So I step out of the jungle gym and allow them to take me, but only under certain conditions. The conditions were as follows: "you have to kill me before you eat me, or I'll run." "Whatever organs you don't eat or destroy, you have to donate." (because you can negotiate with a Zombie) "You have to donate my hair, you cannot have it. I've taken too good care of it for it to be wasted." (again, The Negotiator) By the time I've gotten the last words out of my mouth, these Zombies have gotten crafty and (TMI) pull out power saws and whatnot and completely start to destroy my body for their own gourmet meal. I wake up screaming bloody murder, but not in real life.
I wake up in a dream, from the dream I just had, in a tent. My own screaming woke me up. I emerge from the tent and find that it is raining, nighttime, and I am outside the most beautiful white, modern-looking house I have ever seen. Someone had come to wake me up to ask me if I wanted to go swimming with them (whomever it was) and a group of friends. All that's left is remembering I wrote this all in my journal (in the dream) and accidentally left said journal on the windowsill while it continued to rain.
Now... we don't have time to unpack all of this. What we do have time to unpack is the timing of this dream and in what fashion it came to me. I had, just a few hours prior to falling asleep, been speaking on the phone with my cousin about the role I play in my current job, the role I have played, and how my leadership has affected those I lead. All that came to me was the idea that the Zombies represented my job, and by sacrificing myself (or in other situations, jumping in front of the train), no one else has to go through it. By it being a nightmare within a dream, I am seeing I feel as though I have wasted my time because one side of my brain is thinking I am taking one for the team and making a difference when the other side of my brain knows I am just killing myself. Whether or not that is beneficial is left for multi-dimensional Chey to figure out for herself, hopefully without the help of Zombies.
In this transition I have found a lot of my time spent being disheartened. For months I have put forth the effort to find something new in which to spend my time. I want some sort of structure and I would love something out of the usual for me, something that lets me stand on my feet, not strictly keep me on my toes. In this time I have found applying to jobs, with what experience and title I do have, it is not in the genre of career in which I want and that keeps me from having the upper hand. Being in a job so focused on one type of self assertion and being good at it has me asking myself "is it a waste of talent if I go into a non-customer service focused job?" Do I have the right to downplay what I'm capable of doing, just because I do not meet the standards of another career field? Nonetheless, the lack of communication in trying to find anything new has put me in a place of being swallowed with doubt. Which alternatively leads me to wonder if I, in my dream, also thought "I am nothing of importance, let me give these other kids a chance to do something with themselves." All because I have one type of experience. and money is a necessity. and I feel I am putting too much pressure on myself because I am merely just a 24 year old.
What I have begun to do with my time is try not to be so focused on how I will feel once I reach this milestone or once I have this much money or when I finally go to this place because I have the time off, but rather taking the present second to think "am I happy?" That does not keep me from asking myself "will I /be/ happy when......?" I have started to take stock in my body and in my mind and be sure I am in an even-keeled mood, keeping myself from the negativity I have felt continuously guilty of projecting for months. I have come quickly to the stark conclusion that though we are all destined for greatness, there are still few of us who believe so while simultaneously allowing the opportunity to slip from our hands. A bitter taste left on the lips of those wishers that simply will never be. What I have found in all of this is that, although one of the Zombies was one of my closest and most tender-hearted friends, I have a wonderful support system that wants me to succeed. Even the times I feel I have no potential, nothing left to give, and by accident may have let something to put me on a different path slip through my hands, I have encouragement from even those almost complete strangers who want nothing more than to see me succeed. Those moments, especially, when the universe doesn't listen to what I have to say or think, it is listening to someone. I understand diamonds aren't made without heat and pressure.