Temporary? Insanity

The night before the wedding I had one of those dreams, you know the kind, where everything is so vividly real? I woke up feeling seriously disturbed by the events of the dream, trembling somewhat at the intensity of the emotions evoked by it. I attempted to tell Neil about it, but as I put it into words it just didn’t come out right.

“I had a weird dream last night. That I was discovered and presented with the opportunity to become an international singing sensation.”

On the surface, it doesn’t sound like much of a dream, really. Certainly not anything to be upset and shaky over. Neil responded without much concern. “Huh. That’s nice. Maybe you’re meant to sing in church again soon or something.” Well, it didn’t seem quite adequate, though I couldn’t fault him. I feel this need to put it into words, but I’m not sure how to go about it.

I suppose self-doubt was the main theme (in my dreams even as in real life, eh?). In the dream I was ushered into this grand room. Something like those fabulous hotel suites you see in the movies. Floor to ceiling windows and lush carpeting. The light from a neo-modern chandelier glimmering off the ebony smoothness of a baby grand in the corner. The man I was auditioning for was fashionably dressed and wore tinted glasses. Though I couldn’t see his eyes I could perceive the bored expression touching his lightly tanned face. He waved his hand dismissively at me as if to say, You may now waste my time. I’m surprised I didn’t wake Neil up, I must have been shaking so violently at that point.

I sang something jazzy I think. Deep and throaty. Something from Ella perhaps or maybe Billie Holliday. As the last notes faded I started to crumple in on myself. I turned to leave but was stopped by the man’s voice, deep and melodious, telling me to stay a moment. And the rest of the dream was swept up by a whirlwind of paper. Contracts and posters. Tickets and magazine covers. Fame. It was mine at last.

And I hated every moment of it.

Always the self-doubt. The identity crisis. Was this who I wanted to be? I missed my kids. I missed being a mom, though somehow my dream self had seen fame and stardom as a sweet escape at first. As I stood in front of camera flashing and light blaring news crews, I struggled not to run. I didn’t deserve the fame. I wasn’t good enough. They were just impressed by the makeover. The fancy clothes. The hype. While outwardly I sparkled, inwardly I felt myself withering away.

I awoke, trembling, my dream self still caught up in the horrible struggle and anxiety of indecision.

That day, the day of the wedding, there was a last minute decision to have a musical number. I played the piano and my mum and I sang “True Love” to my Granny and her sweetheart John. And strangely, I wasn’t nervous. Not in the least. I was more nervous over the state of my house. And good grief, what if someone opens the hall closet? Or the laundry room door? Gah! Why is that man opening up the top of my oven?! The timer knob fell in and he’s helping retrieve it? But…but…it’s filthy in there!

As a chronically nervous person, the lack of stage fright struck me as odd, especially in light of my recent dream. I think I’ve figured it out though. I’m not a performer. But I am a homemaker. To be judged for my singing performance, well, that doesn’t really mean much. But to be judged because of the state of my home? That’s a bit shaming. Because that’s who I really am. I’m a mother. A homemaker. A writer. Those are the things I’m scared to be judged on. Those are the things which, for whatever reason, I’ve decided matter to me.

So maybe it’s time to let some of the smaller things go. Stop feeling anxious over the potential for judgement. Who cares if I go out without makeup on, or wear my favourite pair of jeans that have the splatters of paint all over? What’s to be feared in singing a solo at church, or cooking a meal for a sick friend?

And how better can I prioritize my life and the spending of my time to reflect the things that matter? As I ponder I come to realize that so much time is wasted on things that don’t matter all that much. And too little time is spent devoted to the things (and people) that do.

Here is where the fear of failure kicks in. I think I avoid the things that matter because of the fact that they do. I work on my blogging instead of my writing. I prepare meals that I know will work instead of learning new meals for my family to enjoy. I do the bare minimum of housework rather than putting my heart into it and making a lovely well organized home for us all to enjoy.

I’m a coward.

Fortunately, I’m also incredibly selfish. Hopefully recognizing that I can find greater happiness in focusing on what matters will motivate me in some as yet undefinied way.

Of course, I’m also horribly lazy, so I may have blathered on about all this for no good reason.

Bleh. I think I’ll go scour my stove now…