Lately I’ve been having some very vivid dreams where I visit people and places that I’ve long ago left behind. My first inclination is to say that they are regretful dreams, but that’s not really the right word. Sometimes I say that I am sorry, for a thousand things. Mostly for letting them down in some way. I am glad to be back in those places. I am happy to see those people I have left; in the dreams they seem reticent about my return, although no one ever refuses my apologies.
I am also eager to tell them that I am okay, and I am eager to see how they have fared over the years. They have gotten along fine without me. Not too surprising. And a relief. I look into their eyes and we know that we were better off traveling separate paths.
It seems like sometimes my entire writing life is an attempt to make sense of the past. A past which is also playing out in my dreams.