A Good Dream

It was getting closer to April 1st, not that you needed reminding. Every third e-mail in your inbox took care of that. Your compliance coordinator is breathing down your neck at work, and so are your teammates. You can’t close your eyes anymore without counting your yellow triangles (3, right now) and red stop signs (only 1, not terrible).  

“Hey, have you scheduled your meetings yet?” 

“How’s the paperwork going?”  

“Hey, can you come look at this for me?” 

“It’s under control,” you say with a forced smile. It’s not wrong, but it’s not entirely correct either. The meetings are scheduled in your planner, you just haven’t created the invitations yet in the database. It’s fine. It always gets done. They know that, you know that. No sweat. 

“Will you come and evaluate this student?”  

“Will you create a presentation for the quarterly regional meetings?” 

The questions were endless. You don’t want to say yes anymore, but you can’t say no. Always a team player, after all. That’s what they always write on your end of the year evaluation. Parents love you and you’ve made positive inroads with the other staff members. You finally feel like you’re a colleague and not just another face in the building. Staff come to you for advice, and the older students do, too.  

But still. It’s getting tedious, this feeling of never measuring up. Never doing things as fast as others want you to do them, even though when your paperwork is done it is spotless, data driven and parent friendly. Your files are always neat and orderly, which is more than you can say for your other teammates. This time of year always leaves you restless and wondering if there’s something else you could be doing with your talents. It’s cold and dreary outside, so it’s cold and dreary in your head, too. 

You hate the cold of February and March. The endless cold, the sogginess that permeates your office seems to seep into your bones and you can’t shake it. So, you clicked on the ad that appeared at the top of one of your continuing education videos, one of those “click here to learn more about this amazing opportunity!” ones. You made a mental note to run your laptop’s virus scan before you shut down for the night. In an instant you were taken to a colorful website filled with stock photos of happy adults and even happier children.  

“Hate paperwork?” the pop-up banner yelled in all capital letters. You nodded, skeptical.  

“How about meetings that should be emails?” Your nodding increases, this time with an audible “uh huh,” attached, but your eyes are narrowing.  

“Need more time actually providing service than doing the administrative junk?”  

“Yes!” your shout scared you and your cat, who promptly flew off your bed and ran out the door to the hallway. You looked over at your husband who had his headphones in watching his favorite cooking show on his laptop. He didn’t hear you, thank goodness.  

CLICK HERE TO APPLY, white lettering in a big red button appeared at the bottom of the page. The cursor hovered over it, hesitating. You reached over for your glass of wine and muttered “What’s the worst that could happen?” You completed the application for a travel job doing exactly what you do now but in warmer spaces, fueled by promises of intangibles like time and autonomy, finished your glass of wine and shut your laptop. “We’ll see,” you said. Pulling the comforter over your shoulders, you turn off the light and go to sleep. 

******* 

It had been 4 weeks and you hadn’t heard anything; not even an email confirming your submission. “I’m an idiot. Can’t wait for my credit cards to be maxed out because they stole my identity,” eyes rolling. Work doesn’t stop. It’s now March 25th. You’ve had your meetings, your deadlines met, just like you promised everyone. Your students are making growth, your office is organized. Everything is okay; not great, but okay.  

The drive home that day was uneventful. The podcast you were listening to ended for the season, so you switched to the book you were listening to so the voice could keep you company. Your husband was home early, this never happens. A smile creeps slowly across your lips “Maybe we can go out to dinner tonight,” you think to yourself. You hate doing dishes.  

The mail is waiting for you on the counter as you walk in through your back door. “I wonder if my magazine is here,” you wonder aloud. You rifle through it, uninterested, especially since there is no magazine. But wait. The last envelope, addressed to you, makes you cock your head. It’s from an international address, you don’t register its significance immediately. Your eyes scan the front and you flip over to see if there’s anything on the back that might point you in the right directions. “Wait. Wait wait wait.” You say as you slip a finger slowly under the closure. Everything around you stops. Your index finger slides through to the end of the closure as you lift the lip to open the envelope.  

There’s a tremor in your hands and your heart is racing. Is that the ocean you hear in your ears? Or just blood rushing as fast as the waves crash against the shore? Your eyes move rapidly from side to side as your hand pulls out the letter and unfolds it. 

“Dear Mrs. Adams,” you read to yourself, your eyes jump back upwards to the sending address “The International Association…” your voice trails off as your eyes jump back down to the body of the letter. 

“We would like to schedule...” you started. Your breathing was now becoming cause for concern, at least, for your cat who had come to sit at your feet, attentive. Your husband was frozen in space, but his mouth was moving, you just couldn’t hear him over the sound of your own heartbeat. “Oh my god. They want to interview me! A virtual interview!” You turned to look at your husband, who was still moving his mouth with no sound. You shout “Hello! Can you hear me?” waving the letter in his face. The cat meows and paws at your shoe and then suddenly you hear your husband yelling,  

“Allie! Allison! Earth to Allison,” he shouts. Waving his hand in front of your face. You blink a few times and turn toward him. He’s at the steering wheel, you’re in the passenger seat looking out the window.  

“Where do you want to go for dinner?” he asks.  

“I don’t know.” you say and turn to stare out the window.  

Your eyes close as you try to soak in the first warm rays of springtime sun.  

It was a good dream.