I woke up from a nice dream. Rather, movie. I also woke up to an allergy or the beginning of a cold (hope not).
The latter part of the dream felt incredibly lucid, except I was both a viewer and inside one of the major characters. It was a day in the life, except in a montage of moments and memories in the arc of someone else’s life. Someone I know online, actually, a musician.
I know virtually nothing about him, apart from his music and his obsession with K-pop.
But in this dream, I got to live inside his world, look through his eyes and the eyes of the woman he loved and trusted the most. I didn’t know if she was his wife or would become his wife in a few years. I just dropped into their charming courtship, as he chased his dreams.
I felt what she felt. Thought what she thought. I could even feel his long legs draped over the seat next to him, over my lap, as I viewed his life movie through her. She felt happy whenever he touched her, even accidentally. She felt absolutely euphoric when he leaned on her, shared his deepest confidence, and allowed her to go through some harrowing, frustrating adventures together.
He let her work on his Lookbook with him. They tried to get him through the door with this Lookbook. I saw her holding it once in a corporate office while this lawyer stuffed suit type tried to mess with her while her musician boyfriend/husband was in another room. I felt his growing rage and her trying to keep him calm, as they walked out of the office together. He kept repeating, “I won’t punch him,” while she held onto his arm and the Lookbook.
I think all this time, the dreams I’ve been having weren’t necessarily about me, but about these people who wander in. I get to see what they see, feel what they feel, experience what they experience. Some of it’s prophetic, some of it’s empathic.
I came away from this particular dream closer to understanding that I’ve been arrogant about my personal suffering. I act like I’m the only one bad things happen to, when that’s far from the case.
Everybody goes through the same backstabbing shit, the setbacks, the pricks in stuffed suits. Everybody reacts the same to adversity.
I’m no different. I’m not special. There’s a strange comfort in that.
I am a little ashamed that it’s taken me so long to figure this out. I prided myself on my empathy.