Recurring dreams, whether they elicit memories, places, faces, visions, or situations, always seem to carry a little extra meaning, if only for the fact that our brains play them for us more than once.
There's one I get almost every month.
I used to play the violin in a music group at my school. For 20-ish kids, I like to think we were pretty good. We would play a range of shows, from inaugural ceremonies to galas to festivals, and as you would imagine, there was a lot of practice and preparation involved.
Well, there’s a recurring dream I have where I’m on my way to one of these concerts. It’s a big one and I feel ready: I have all the songs memorized, my head is covered in hairspray, and I arrive at the venue early, greeting my peers and falling into easy chatter. All there's left to do is wait until we're called to stage. Idly, I look around to take my violin out of its case and tune it.
Only it's not there. I've forgotten it. Of course. I prepared everything but the most important thing.
I frantically seek a solution, asking if anyone brought an extra violin, calling my parents to see if they can drive it to me before the performance starts—but I know there’s nothing I can do. Embarrassment, disappointment, and fear whirl in my stomach as I sink away from the group.
Usually it ends there. Upon waking, it's a quick frown at having had that dream again, but, glad that my concert days are past me, I shake it off and start my day.
What are your recurring dreams?
