Road Sign Dreams & Drummers

It’s About Vulnerability

Remembering my dreams is not something I have ever focused on; I know it can be done, but I hardly ever remember dreaming, so I never gave it any energy.

When I do remember dreams, they are of things like polka-dotted elephants at a fragrance counter in an 80’s style mall, or I’m at a ball game, waiting in line to pee and; in front of me; is what looks like a “child robot” doing the potty dance.

Weirdly, those are my normal dreams; I end up remembering them about 4 or 5 times a year. You would think I would dig a little deeper into dreams like that… NO; I don’t.

What I experienced felt less like a dream and more like a sign, not the kind where you spot an image that looks like Gandhi on a potato chip or repeatedly waking up at 2:22 a.m. to pee.

It was an actual sign, or at least I think that’s what it was. Maybe a massive billboard, but it was on the ground; the letters felt like sandpaper.

How do I know that?

I could see the iridescent flecks in the chipped green enamel paint. I was cold. I was wearing the same closthes I had put on before bed.

I must have been on the side of the road or a freeway. I didn’t see the cars, but I could feel them passing me; I could hear the engines; I could see headlights, all going in the same direction.

The wind was blowing my hair into my mouth, the air was gritty.

I was standing inches away from the sign, too close to read what it said. I was standing there staring at this massive shiny wall in front of me.

Some people may have been alarmed by this, but it was a pretty tame dream for me, considering the elephant and the robots.

Peculiar? Yes! Alarming? Not really.

A few days later, I had the same dream featuring the same reflective green road sign. This time, I thought I was paying attention.

I turned around and ran as fast as I could toward the car lights. I couldn’t see where I was going. It felt like I was running in a ditch; the oncoming lights were so bright… just a few feet further, I thought, then turn around.

I was awake! It was over. I suddenly sat up in bed. I wasn’t scared; there was a calm silence, and I had an overwhelming urge to grab a pen.

Isn’t it strange how your mind works? One moment, the words; the thought is there, and then suddenly, they slip away from you.

As I stood there in the dark in my underwear, a mini mag clenched between my teeth, scrambling for a pen and a sticky note, all while trying not to wake up my husband, who was sleeping two feet away,

It was that moment, I realized I had no idea what the sign said. I had never bothered to read it. I was inches away from the damn thing; I ran in the opposite direction, I had turned around but I had failed to read the sign.

Why the hell am I awake? I was pissed, and a little disturbed. I was wondering if I had some deeply ingrained obsession with road side signage. What would that be about?

I‘m not ashamed to say that I delved deep into this subject. I went all in, exploring the realm of dreams, studying sleep, and understanding different brain states. I needed a plan.

Then, it happened. I had the dream again; this time, I was prepared. I had visualized the process; streamlined it.

This is the way my brain works.

I started sleeping on my side, assuming it would improve my reaction time. I planned to walk instead of run, thinking it’d decrease the chance of waking up — after all, I’d never heard of someone sleep-running.

My goal was to turn around, read the sign, wake up, and jot it down. I had my mini mag, a pen, and sticky ready on the table next to me. Days later, it finally happened, and my strategy played out flawlessly.

The next morning, I scrutinized the message.

“How do you feel? Are You Safe? Can you reach your keyboard?”

What? I felt as if my brain had seized up like gears on a bike. I felt fine; I knew I was safe, my keyboards within reach.

The gears in my head struggled to get unstuck...

my mind was grinding it out- highway…lights… fast… lights…

then it finally achieved total re-engagement- cars…road… signs, what do signs do…they guide.

That’s when it hit me. Like most people, I’ve felt those little nudges from the universe that guide you toward certain decisions.

Some call it intuition or signs. If you’re not paying attention, you can find yourself stuck and not making progress despite all your hard work. That’s exactly how I felt.

I was angry with myself. I’ve come to understand that being kind to yourself leads to kindness towards others. If you haven’t given it a shot, you should; it’s an amazing way to navigate life.

However, in that moment, I was solely focused on self-criticism.

If a friend had spoken to me the way I was speaking to myself, I’d be in tears. Yet, I found myself trapped in my own negative thoughts.

I’ve practiced mindfulness for over a decade, I understand that these experiences are part of it.

I’ve dedicated years to unraveling my behavior, understanding why I think certain things, who I affect, and why. So how did I miss this, whatever this was. Why do I find it challenging to prioritize my own needs when I have no trouble doing so for others?

After analyzing my irrationally rational behavior, I realized I had received the sign, and more importantly, I understood it.

How many chances do we miss because we’re focused on things we can’t change or things that don’t matter?

There is this excellent Masterclass on “YouTube.” It was put out by BBC Radio. It was from around 2019. The person being interviewed?

The late Taylor Hawkins; In the video Taylor talks about having “Red Light Fever” while the Foo Fighters were recording, “There is Nothing Left To Lose.”

He had just joined the band. The record light would come on and he said he would just freeze; it’s not a great place for a drummer to be.

Live performances were totally comfortable, but the studio was less comfortable; there was a learning curve, and he needed to take time to “sharpen his skills”. What did he do? He asked for help. He knew he had more to learn, and that was OK.

As I watched the video, the thing that struck me… was his vulnerability.

You could see that he had pride in the path of his career; he had done the work and done it well. You could see his heart as he spoke. He was such a humble man.

Now he’s gone at 50 yrs old. What if he had quit? What if he had never picked up sticks. Think of all the great music we would have missed out on.

When you share a common interest with someone you admire and you value their commitment to their work, you tend to pay closer attention to what’s really being said.

I realized I was fortunate, on the right path, and that I needed to take time off to improve my writing skills. Read a shit-ton of books, research new genres, and put together my business plan for a new project.

I’ve written thousands of words in the last three years, trying to find my style; my voice. None of it has been seen by anyone other than me. I was missing a step. I needed to learn how to be vulnerable.

I wish I could claim that I recognized my mistake and that I didn’t beat myself up for “wasting” three years. I was wondering how I had been so oblivious to what was right in front of me.

I had to soften the calluses that served me well in my former career.. you have to grow a pair to work in construction; whatever your gender.

Those walls I constructed, the ones I relied on to shield me from uncomfortable comments or jokes I couldn't quite understand. They were my protection. And those walls aren’t useful anymore…they are just holding me back.

It is time for me to really learn how to do the one thing that brings me peace.

All of it, all that this career brings, criticism, praise, I can hardly wait for my first creepy email; it’s part of the deal, I just have to keep writing.

But I still had concerns, hesitations.

Writing to me is one of the most personal things you can do, you have to open up and scrape the walls of your soul for words… and if its any good, the person reading it will feel the same way.

Now thats personal.

I have to write from my heart, but will anyone read it? Would it be a joke? I had to figure it out. There was still work to do.

So I sat down and did a major brain dump; I filled every line of a new legal pad.

I tried to read what I had written, a wet snotty tissue in my hands. I came to understand that my dreams they were attempting to convey a message:

I have nothing to fear.

Fear is a tough place to get out of. My safe place is wherever my husband and dog are.

As I write this, my dog is snoring on the bed behind me, and my husband is teaching some fresh-faced student just out of diesel school how to work on an Allison Transmission.

At this moment, I feel safe, content, and happy. When you find yourself in this particular state, you don’t want to leave.

I was afraid to hit the publish button. I had done it before, 4 times, actually. I was questioning the quality of the work and dealing with imposter syndrome.

My chosen genre is mental health & relationships. My previous career, Construction Management for the oil industry, what makes me qualified to talk about mental health & relationships?

I have been writing since I could hold one of those elementary school pencils, the ones with the big red erasers; it was a way to “play quietly.” My mom was a student and generally doesn’t take to unnecessary noise or chaos. So, I adapted.

I would write stories and draw and draft houses with one little window and a big door, a flower pot drawn strategically to the left of the door. It was fun, and it kept me out of trouble; I would create whatever I wanted.

It never crossed my mind that everyone else wasn’t doing the same thing. It was much later that I realized that I had something to contribute, something different, I could be part of the conversation if only I would show up.

What is the point of doing something like writing if you are not going to share it with others?

I try to write at least five days a week. I’ve got more documents, articles, and stories piled up in my digital space than I know what to do with.

Suppose I didn’t take time to write this. In that case, I’d probably leave a virtual legacy for my sons to decipher one day; wondering why I would possibly need so many external hard drives.

But hey, I’d resigned myself to the fact that these potential gems might just gather digital dust, only to be unearthed by my grandsons as some cryptic literary inheritance.

It’s time to change that fate….right?

My first article was penned back in 2020, and coincidentally, my final article was also written in the same year. I managed to gather around 30 followers and earned approximately twenty dollars before calling it quits.

Apart from my husband sharing the link with about 5 family members, I refrained from any social media promotion. I must say, though, that I truly valued my readers. The feedback I received was overwhelmingly positive, and people were incredibly kind and gracious.

This is what I have decided to embrace, and I hope this resinates with you. Writers, artist, creators, we carry a responsibility to share our work. It’s not just about showcasing our talents; it’s about honoring ourselves.

We can’t allow our creations to languish in the confines of our computers — they possess the power to touch lives, to bring solace, or even a moment of joy to someone who needs it more than we might realize.

We have to step out of that comfort zone, that cocoon of safety we have woven around our creations. We have to pay attention to the signs. That being said, I now push the “publish button”.

As we navigate our own world, how we live, what we are willing to accept, our own mental health relationships, I want to say thank you.

The time you spend reading on this community, it makes a difference.

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For more stories click this link https://medium.com/@djhitzfeld or email me at [email protected]