Dreams

I had a strange dream last night. I dreamt that DeShon was getting married and I had to go. The wedding was either going to be in Atlanta, Puerto Rico or New Jersey. An old woman from my church in Tennessee was telling me all of this and when I acted put-out by the whole thing, she said, "Well, it's a good excuse to go to the Caribbean". I was relieved to find out it was going to be in New Jersey, though I was not happy that it was happening.

I found him in New Jersey. Everyone was there in a shabby house that felt like a home. His brothers and my brother. After I found him, we snuck conspiratorially into a bedroom and started kissing. People kept opening the door, and as they tried to wander in, I screamed at them to get out. He smiled down at me as we lay on the bed and told me it was us who were getting married. He then mentioned that I had better take a shower. I rolled my eyes as I looked down at my discheveled clothes.

I looked at the clock, it was 8:35am. I asked what time it started, knowing it would be sooner than I would like; I hate rushing. He told me 10am. I was annoyed. "Why do we have to start so early?" I asked. He said "Because my best friend of like 50 years, Roger, needs it to be at 10am". I asked, "What is he allergic to, 11am’s?" I thought to myself, “the wedding can’t start w/o the bride”, but I knew I did not have a say, Roger had changed his schedule to be there. I looked at him and told him in a pouty voice, “this is not going to be the wedding I wanted". I was still smiling a bit, I knew in my heart he would make it up to me. I felt pretty good, though a bit disappointed things would not be exactly how I wanted them to be and that other people were still more important. I felt good though.

I woke-up perplexed at this strange vision. I had a dream that Steven got married right after we broke-up, I felt crushed. And it actually happened. This was different, it was like the dream sequences you see in movies, the ones that have some meaning your subconscious is trying to push through.

I don't know what the dream meant. I know that I miss him like crazy, but another part of me knows that even though he might be the right person, now is not the right time. Again, it is like a movie, two people whose lives continue to brush past one another's, but cannot connect until later. I haven't heard his voice since he left for Vegas on Sunday. It's only been a few days, but I know that he is probably doing something of a "Fi Detox". I understand. He needs time to sort through all this the same way I do. For now, I will have faith and stay the hell away from Facebook!

After spinning I headed-off to work. I spoke to my mother briefly and told her that I had been wait listed at CUNY's Journalism Graduate School. She was thrilled. I must say, her excitement was catching. It is not the worst back-up plan in the world. I know I am going to write. I have to keep telling myself that I am already a writer. Who knows how I will make the jump from being a writer to a paid writer.

The possibilities washed over me, filling me with the feeling you get when you meet a new lover. Not the blind, carefree feeling of falling in love, but the quiet anticipation of potential. I suppose you might call it hope. Funny how intoxicating that can be. The tentative, guarded joy that things yet to come can give you.

Reading Ruth Reichl's books have made me fall madly in love with her, and give me a watercolor-like image of what my own future may hold. When I started the experiment I wanted a life of friends, adventure and interesting conversation. Though I still want those things, I have another desire to add to the list: I want to create something. I don't want to edit or manage or assist. I want to create something from nothing. Perhaps that is what draws me to writing. I am not a painter or a musician, but I can take people somewhere new or somewhere familiar with my words. I can invoke laughter and tears with words on a paper that was once blank. This is what I want to do, hopefully I can find a way to do it and make a living!

I had an idea the other night. I was out with Em in the Lower East Side and we had just tried the new bun restaurant BaoHaus. It did not come even reasonably close to living up to it's hype. Disgusted, I went on a critical rampage, ending with the comment that "David Chang shits on BaoHaus". Through fits of laughter, she begged me to become a food writer. She said that the way I write and the perspective I have is beyond entertaining to her. I chuckled and told her, "You tell me where to start, and I'll go full speed ahead!"

Later that evening, I was lying in bed reading Chelsea Handler's newest bio "Chelsea, Chelsea Bang, Bang". The outlandishly unruly woman has softened a bit since finding herself in a monogamous relationship, but is still one crazy, hilarious bitch. "I wonder if she would like a food commentator on her show?" It is clearly an insane idea, but hell, we have hilarious social commentators, such as herself and Joel McHale, why not take the same sacrilegious approach to culinary review? It may be a silly idea, but it is surely going to be a bizarre niche that will land me the success I crave. Perhaps I am insecure, but my history has shown me that I am much better at forging new paths than competing on the road more traveled.

Dreams, dreams, dreams. Funny how you can have them while sleeping and while wide awake and in both cases you end up with nothing more than vague watercolors to follow or interpret. Thank God for faith, without it life would probably be one big nightmare.

Pipe Dreams

I think we all know what we really want, or at least some little part of us does. That little truth is so often buried under the fears, the “shoulds”, the years of life that teach us that wanting is not having. I have been looking for my desire, digging through the rubble of the years in search of this tiny gem. I don’t deny that what we truly want changes and evolves over the years, but even as it comes into focus, we often brush it aside like a scam e-mail in our inbox.

Me, well it took me years to even figure out how to finish the sentence “I want….” Even then, I compromised. See, disappointment has traditionally been something I don’t do well with. I suppose to avoid looking like a young fool I found ways to find realistic versions of my dreams. If this seems like an oxymoron, it’s because it is. Dreams are meant to set you free, to let passion have its moment of unbridled glory.

This year I started excavating again. Still, when people asked me what I do, or what I wanted to do, I answered with some half-baked sentiment. Should I go to law school? (Then people will know how smart I am, I could make a difference, I could make enough money to do anything I wanted!) Should I go to journalism school? (I wouldn’t make any money, but then I could be a real writer! I don’t want to do actual journalistic work, but hey, it is close enough, right?) Should I do the stupid thing; go to NYU for a useless degree in food studies? (Ha! Wow, now that would be a good idea, spend more money on yet another degree I will never be able to use!) Well, shit, let’s hedge our bets and apply to all three, let life take care of the rest.

Dig, dig, dig. I love many things, but I have found one thing that has lasted the true test of time. The free time test! I love food. I like to read about it, talk about it, write about it, cook it, eat it, and travel for it. Before the rejection letters even started coming in, I knew which program I wanted to attend. Again, I compromised though. When people asked me what I wanted to do with the degree, I vaguely spoke of food marketing, a good fit because of my advertising background. I spoke about the FDA, as I am already a federal employee. I did not dare say what I could not even admit to myself. I could not say what I truly wanted. See, I don’t want to be thought of as silly. I don’t want people to laugh at my pipe-dreams.
Oddly enough, no one ever laughs, they even suggest those things I want so badly for myself. It is in fact me who brushes them aside. I laugh and say what a nice fantasy that would be. I often accuse those around me of standing in their own ways. Who knew I was the one most guilty of this very thing.

A few years ago a book called “The Secret” was all the rage. It encouraged you to visualize the life you wanted into existence. One tool for this “envisioning” was to take images of your desires and make a vision board, or poster of them. I thought, and still think, much of the principles are nonsense, but it is a good exercise to put together such positive ideas. Being lazy, I created PowerPoint collogues for myself. Even in these “dream boards” I cautiously included plan b’s.

Today I was feeling a bit blasé, so I decided to try to think of things that would make me happy. I made a brand new board. I created slides in the form of a futuristic timeline. Pictures of the classes I am teaching this spring, the events I will organize, the comforts that will get me through the winter. Summer was easy; full of little adventures, my best friend and vintage models in bathing suits. Fall was dominated by my joyous emersion into the NYU Masters program. The next slide was filled with pictures of my future travels, blogs and dinner parties. The final slide was a picture of where I want to end-up. The one I have never really made. It has pictures of my beautiful West Village apartment, decorated with mid-century modern furniture, it pictures a happy, exhausted couple from the 1950’s cleaning up after a dinner party, it pictures friends laughing, it pictures me cooking, it pictures me smiling one of my most beautiful smiles while leaning back into the arms of a smiling man, and it pictures me gleefully holding my first book. I began listening to Andy Williams’ “Moon River” and watching the slideshow of my future. It has been right in front of me all along.

I want to be a writer, open a restaurant, be beautiful, classic and vibrant, live in New York and surround myself with amazing people who make me laugh. I want to be in love, in love with my co-host, in love with my biggest fan and best friend. I want our love to be easy and happy and filled with laughter and endless awe and respect for one another. I want share my passion with people, follow my heart to the ends of the earth, I want to live a simple, complicated, joyful life. This is my pipe dream; this is what I sheepishly brush under the rug.

You know what? Sitting here alone, two days before my 26th Birthday, I uncovered my dirty little secret desire. It made me smile and it brought me back. I found an amazing woman this year. She is confident and charismatic, endlessly excited and alive, full of fearless love and passion. It has been her absence this last month that has made me feel so hollow. I looked for her in the mirror and saw only her shell staring back. Today, basking in the glow of my horizon, she walked back in my door. I feel as though she put me on like a suit of flesh and smiled with my lips as we began to melt back into one being.

I am not the girl I once was; I never have to be her again. Even when I feel myself slipping back into the gray past, I need only look for the light in my heart, flickering bravely and guiding the woman I have become back home. As far as my dreams, who knows, maybe they will prove to be the most realistic fantasy of all.

Closing Doors and Open Horizons

Well, it was my last week at RRA. I had a mild case of the flu, I only worked-out once and I barely touched my stove! It was a good week though. As one chapter closes, the next is taking form. I am going to miss seeing M. and G at work everyday, but I am determined to keep them in my life. I am going to keep working for RRA a few hours a week to make some extra money, and because I am a sucker who can't let go! My crazy boss was gracious and her outpouring of support and appreciation really touched me. I feel my greatest success during my crazy time there was the fact that I was able to maintain positive relationships with everyone there. I did not let the crazy change me. Or maybe it did. I am able to see my oppressive and offensive boss for the woman behind the tyranny, and I have no ill will toward her at all. That's pretty cool. My last day was celebrated with a big salad lunch, wine at the end of the day and my special gift to them: a detailed (very sarcastic) "how-to" Manuel on my insane job!

The festivities continued at Momofuku Fried Chicken Dinner with DeShon, Gus and Hen, Kaitlin and her brother and Kyung. The food was ok, but the dinner was a blast! It was so wonderful to share a meal and celebrate with a few of my favorite people in New York. To me, that is what the good life is. Simple, yet sometimes so hard to attain.

Beard on Books on Wednesday gave me a renewed sense of excitement at the thought of joining the ranks at NYU's Food Studies Program. The book, Gastropolis, was written by a collection of professors there, and there were several current students in the audience. The girls told me that the program was phenomenal and that spring semester admissions decisions were being made this week! Hopefully I will hear something next week. These people speak my language; seeing food as more than caloric necessities for life, but as the most intimate picture of who we are as a culture. I still have my hesitations, but they are slowly fading away in the bright light of my excitement. We will see what the future holds for me.

I had a dream last night, likely spurred-on by my new job starting on Monday (and the fact I still don't know what I am going to be doing!) and my ponderings about the future. I had arrived at a large, crowded building for my first day of work and was searching for my supervisor. The head of marketing at Food Network stepped out of the crowd and excitedly said, "You must be Felicia! I am so glad to finally meet you in person." then she exclaimed, "You are so thin! Much thinner than most of the new arrivals!" She began to lead me through the offices, chatting with me about new cookbooks and recipes I had tried, and I could not stop smiling. I could not wait to see what came next. Then I woke-up. It was the sort of dream that makes you squeeze your eyes back shut, desperately trying to get back to it. How amazing if I could find a life that made me feel that way, that made me never want to shut my eyes again.

I feel like I am getting there, on my way to that place. Until then, I have bread baking in Brooklyn on Sunday, a Tapas party on Monday and a Post-Thanksgiving fete next Friday! All that and a new job next week! I may still want to curl-up and close my eyes from time to time, but I have a pretty great life, punctuated by a store of hopes and dreams.

Sick Days and Dog Dream Guilt

Here I am, in bed at 1pm on a Wednesday. No, I am not dying, yes, I am feeling ill.

Monday I was feeling under the weather, but because my boss was not around to make me miserable, I made it through the day. Tuesday I debated coming to work, and decided to test myself to see if I was sick or just trying to get out of work (I know I have problems). I got up at 6am for pilates, they made me feel a bit better, so I went in for a half day. I felt guilty leaving early, but I still was feeling a bit run-down. I lounged all day, ate some food, and went to bed at 9:00.

This brings me to this morning, up at 6am for spinning and it seems my head and tummy are already there. I am not well. I weigh myself to find that I have gained 3lbs, true motivation to get to that class! I really can't though, so I crawl back into bed with a whimper and tell myself that there is an evening class if I am up to it.

So far today I have gotten out of bed only to shower and call the office to let them know I will not be joining them, and again about an hour ago when I decided to straighten-up and grab my laptop. Sitting was not the right move, so here I am back in bed.

I really don't know what is wrong with me, nausea and light headaches and overall fatigue. Basically, I don't feel good. I have be raked with guilt over missing some work the last two days. I constantly wonder if I am just being lazy and avoiding a job I hate. Gus tells me I have issues. I tell her we have the same guilt issues, just over different things.

Uggh, it is gorgeous outside too! Going to be 70 today. I really hope I can get out and enjoy it a bit, but right now moving feels pretty bad. Maybe I will eat a plain bagel with a side of Aleive, perhaps that will fix me right up. For some reason I feel like I am not meant to be fixed right up, that this is a time of quiet for me that I have been missing.

I had a dream on Sunday night, a dream I have had before in various forms. I was going somewhere and suddenly realized, in horror, that I had forgotten about my dog. My poor dog had been living in my old house, alone, for a long time. This dog looked like my childhood pet Angel, but was named BabyD like my rottweiler from Ft. Campbell. In fact, the place in the dream looked a bit like the area off of 41A in Hopkinsville, KY. I found the dog and as I stroked it goodbye (apparently I was still leaving) someone said, "It's not good for a dog to be alone so much". The guilt and the sorrow of forgetting and neglecting this creature was overwhelming.

The sorrow lingered as I made my way toward the office on Monday morning. I have had dreams like this before, usually I find a cage under my bed with my old hamsters or guinea pigs in it, and I am shocked to find them alive, wondering if I have forgotten any others. This one was different though. My BabyD was like my child, the sorrow was so deep. What does it mean? What are these dreams really about?

There is something I am forgetting or leaving behind, something I am responsible for, something I love. But I am still leaving. I thought I had finally said goodbye to the South, to my past, to that simple life. I thought I had moved-on and embraced a new life, all my own. What did I forget? Why do I feel so guilty?

I know many people say dreams are just dreams, or that dreams are the subconscious way of working things out and are not to be interpreted. I suppose that this dreams seems different to me because nothing was resolved, the dream keeps coming back, but with greater intensity. It feels more like my subconscious is screaming at me with increasing volume, but I still can't make-out what is being said. Perhaps during my quiet day, in my soft prison of bed, it will come to me. Somehow I doubt it will be that easy.