Holding Pattern

“Throw your dreams into space like a kite, and you do not know what it will bring back, a new life, a new friend, a new love, a new country.”--Anaïs Nin

It's late, almost midnight, and one of those times where I wish I had a laptop and I could just lie in bed and write instead of getting up and going to my desk. But sitting at my desk feels less like cheating than lying in bed and writing would be. This week I seem to be a virus magnet and today it was a fever. Wednesday it was a sore throat. I have never had so many little colds and flus since I started this job a year ago. I wonder if we have one of those sick buildings?

I started out the day being furious with the nameless co-worker who brought this particular bug into the office. Heading into a 3-day weekend this way was not my intention. My latest quest during all of this is to find the perfect bowl of soup: mine is Vietnamese pho. (I get the chicken.) The wonderful thing about my neighborhood is that it is a tiny paradise of food. Whatever type of food you want, we have it within a four-block radius (I have not been to the Ethiopian place yet, though). Everything is easily walkable from where I live, which is such a revelation to me still, being a child of the suburbs where a car equals your freedom.

Today was a glorious day. San Francisco has a type of blue sky that is breathtaking, perhaps because the ocean winds keep the air so fresh. Today was one of those days where I could look straight down Irving Street all the way to the Pacific, and then to the far horizon, and feel the ocean calling to me.

On my way to the noodle shop, I stopped at my bank to get some spending money from the ATM. The little ad that flashed on the ATM screen when I inserted my card showed a 30-ish woman with her head tilted back in some mild form of ecstasy. The tag line read: "Access your account. Access your dreams." That slogan, provided to me free of charge through Citibank but for which some numbnuts on Madison Ave. got paid a shitload of money to think up, almost made me want to close my account and start putting my money under my mattress.

Is our society that soft in the head now that we can be told that our dreams come out of an ATM machine? Is it really that easy to access your dreams and I'm just too smart for my own damn good? Perhaps having a low-grade fever is like having PMS and I'm ready to rail on the world (hope to god I don't have both at the same time) but reading that line really sent me into a silent tizzy.

What are my dreams? What are yours? How do we access such elusive things? That's how soothsayers and mystics and oracles have been getting steady business for millenia. I used to put some serious stock into other people interpreting for me what my dreams are and what my direction should be. Only very lately in life have I decided to chart my own course, but it's frustrating and difficult at times. Right now I seem to be in a holding pattern. I feel an urge to break out, do something new, find another way. I think it's mostly a job thing, and being out and about during the day emphasizes how much living we all miss out on being in front of a computer for hours on end, days on end. I don't want to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine because I'm taking a sick day from work. Something's definitely not right with that equation.

If I had only known that I could have accessed all of my dreams from my local ATM machine. But my account's getting pretty low so I'll have to figure something else out.
I won't worry about it too much. I always find my way sooner or later.

***

The writing helps sort things out, even when it doesn't give me all the answers I want. One of my writing influences, Natalie Goldberg, teaches the practice of writing as part of her Zen Buddhism practice. It's not about what you write, it's just that you do it and that you're faithful to the practice of it. You might have heard of Writing Down the Bones, which is a good book to start with. If you get a chance to see her in person, do it.

Beautiful flickr photo from Jane Keeler.