My hand gripped a rope as I swung into the open door of a shop that was owned by a friend. Curiously, the rope seemed to be attached to nothing more than the ether. As I came in for a landing, I let go of the girl I was carrying. Her full skirt flared as she stepped across the shop floor and gave a little twirl for me. Her dress was a lovely pink and well-tailored. Her full bodied, chestnut brown hair was pinned up, retro style.
I felt my hand grip the rope even tighter as I realized this was a different time period. And then I noticed that something else felt incredibly—off? It was in the way that this young woman looked at me, and the fact that she was noticeably shorter—much shorter—than me. And then there was my stance, the way my arm felt as it held on to the white rope that still dangled there mysteriously. My body felt really…strong. And then I noticed I was wearing a suit.
A tailored, three piece suit! And this body definitely was not the one I’m used to being in. In this dream I wasn’t a woman but some random guy.
Internally I was like, “WHAT is THIS!!! What is happening???”
The young lady turned to me starry-eyed and thrilled and exclaimed, “That was amazing!”
I guess riding on a fanciful, ethereal space rope could be exciting.
“It wasn’t that much,” I said.
Nightmare of nightmares. My voice wasn’t mine either.
This voice was that of a very affluent young man. There was a sleek, proper/classy lilt to it, so much so that it was hard to place him. He didn’t sound British. But he didn’t sound quite American either. In any case, my only thought at the moment was, “Who am I? What do I look like right now?”
Then my absurdly detailed brain sent me a “memory.”
He/I was looking into a full length mirror, adjusting the dark gray suit and getting ready to head out for the day. He looked to be in his mid to late twenties. European? American? Canadian? Regardless, he was tall with dark stormy hair, dark eyes, not very tan at all, but as I guessed, he had a nice build. This man was so handsome, he left me wanting to date myself, among other things.
I was brought back to the present when the young woman started chastising me for taking my abilities for granted. She was still going on about how “exhilarating” the ride was.
This was annoying because I can’t stand when other people tell me how they think I should feel. It was just really uncomfortable—this whole scenario was uncomfortable—and I was ready to send her back to wherever she came from.
So I said, “That’s it. I’m taking you back to your mother.”
She froze in shock, her mouth dropping open.
“Why? We just got here.”
“I know. Let’s go,” I said, totally unmoved.
I took fresh hold of the rope, and she came in so that I could wrap an arm around her waist. Then we swung and flew and there was night sky and stars until we stepped into her mother’s garden, where it happened to be daytime.
This garden wasn’t the average garden. This was the garden of a wealthy person. It was full of all kinds of blooming flowers and gazebos and patios. Her mother was sitting in a white wicker chair on a covered raised patio made of brick that was decorated with potted plants. She was entertaining guests today, and they were all lounging around tables of finger sandwiches and tea and such when I returned with her daughter.
As soon as she saw me, this lady started giving me a hard time. I don’t remember exactly what she said, but it was along the lines of, “Who do you think you are disappearing with my daughter, you need to be more responsible, what kind of young man are you…” and so on. Blah. Blah. Blah.
I didn’t say anything during this tirade, but her daughter tried to defend me. This annoyed her even more, and she basically told her daughter to butt out of it. I had enough of all of this.
I looked this rich, beautiful, and opinionated matriarch in the eye and said, “I see that your age is starting to get to you.”
Everyone in the vicinity fell quiet, stunned.
“It’s probably because of your health,” I added, smirking.
More gasps and murmurs from the guests. No one could believe that anyone would dare take such a jab at her. Her face turned crimson. This woman was obviously working hard to maintain her youth and her health, but to me she just felt like a bitter old woman with nothing better to do. But I admit, I was quite rude.
Before she had the chance to tell me more about what a wicked young man I am, I turned and briskly walked away. I flicked out my hand, and the rope was there. I took hold of it and disappeared from that place.
So I swung off again through time, space and night, but this trip was a lot wilder. I was spinning, screaming, and flailing the entire time. Basically the calmness of my emotions dictates the calmness of the ride. Unfortunately, in taking my revenge on the girl’s mom, I had lost my cool internally. I was clutching on to that rope like a pathetic, immature loser.
I saw my friend’s shop coming into view. He had closed the door, and I was totally out of control. So I crashed through the glass doors, the glass store front, and landed inside.
Like all heroes of this caliber, I was fine, brushing the glass off my suit. But then I felt it—the exhilaration that the girl said I should be feeling.
That was actually pretty awesome.
My friend was standing behind the shop counter not looking too pleased, but what really hit me was how much I had undervalued the young woman’s words. She saw something in me that I couldn’t see in myself. I should have been nicer to her, and I actually wanted to somehow find her again.
As I woke up, I turned in bed bemoaning the fact that I had screwed up my chances with the love interest. We could have had something. And then I laughed because I am completely ridiculous.
As a writer, I’ve had a ton of fun reflecting on this. Sometimes I like to imagine this as a situation like in the anime, Your Name, where while I was in his body, he was in mine. I also enjoy thinking of how he was probably engaged to that girl, and then I showed up and told off his future mother-in-law. I get the sensation that he may have been a bit more passive before I took control of things. Everyone seemed shocked by everything I did.
But now looking back, I realize that I’ve never lost the love interest. She sings to me.
So this was the first time I’ve ever appeared in a dream as a man. Since then, I’ve navigated my dreams in a masculine form a few times.
In the weeks following this, I showed up as a young man once again in a dream. I was stepping outside after a workout, taking a moment to admire my arms. I wasn’t in a suit this time, just a white T-shirt and jeans. It was a bright sunny day.
I’ve never dreamed of being a man in a modern setting. I’m guessing that I’m usually in the 1940’s or early 1950’s. In any case, I was simply standing outside taking in the day, when a little old man in a wrinkled light gray suit approached me. He was carrying a brown leather jacket.
He said,”I wanted to give your jacket back to you.”
I took it in my hands, actually a bit confused, surprised and speechless. But the old man felt my appreciation, and after giving me a little smile, he shuffled away.
Later, this jacket appears again in my dream about escaping the house of the six-figure business coach. In fact, in that dream, I have multiple brown leather jackets that I’m packing into a suitcase—and I’m doing so as my usual feminine self.
So as much as I like to joke about stealing the body of some poor young man, in the wild world of my subconscious, he is just another version of me. When my husband and I reminisce about the time when we were dating, he always says that the hardest thing about dating me was that I didn’t feel like I needed anyone. And that’s true. I didn’t need him—I loved him simply for being.
Of course, I love my husband with all that I have, but internally and psychologically, the man of my dreams is no one else but…me. Most likely even before I found love in the external world, the man that meets my “needs” has existed inside of myself.