Race to the Top
A brief lesson on letting go, subconsciously.
Picture this.
Riding on the back of a horse, galloping through a mountainous region filled with cliff drops into the unknown and jagged-edged boulders the size of a Prius. You’re running from something, what exactly you don’t know. But you’re booking it on the back of this horse, a stallion with more power than any other horse you’ve ever seen.
Thick, angry clouds pollute the ugly gray skies, blocking any hope of seeing sunlight. Up above, it looks as if a vast firestorm is circling, preparing. Swirls of oranges and grays hover above. Flakes of ash fall from the sky. Towering, dead pine trees sway across the landscape. Your surroundings look like a fire already destroyed everything in sight. But the firestorm above, the one you can’t take your eyes off of, looks ready for another round. Your singular goal is to make it to the top of this mountain, hidden behind the clouds and out of view from the 30-degree angle you’re running up.
Your horse is working overtime, but he’s keeping up, barely. The steep mountainside, the jumps over massive rocks, the human on his back. He was made for this, your stallion. But he’s slowing down, huffing it a beat slower than he should. Time feels like it’s coming to an end, and the firestorm above is picking up speed. You feel every jerk of your horse’s body, every sudden turn around a hollowed-out tree. You’re exhausted. It’s a lot of work, holding on for your life, your nerves shot, your system running on pure adrenaline.
Then you look back, behind the horse, and you see a set of ropes connected to the horse, pulling something, something that looks like a sleigh. Squinting, you look closer, trying to figure out what all of those objects are, stacked in a disorganized pile, one piece of junk on top of the other. You see familiar pieces, a couch, a footstool. Your couch, your footstool. You see the outline of a bed frame and a pile of clothes thrown from the drier and onto the sleigh. And you realize, looking at all of this junk, that you’re actually looking at everything you own, all of your life’s possessions piled up on a sleigh bed that Santa’s reindeer would even struggle to pull.
Somehow, incredibly late in the moment, it occurs to you that your horse might actually be able to make it to the top of this mountain, away from the impending danger that surrounds you both. But not like this, not with this sleigh carrying everything you care about. Your possessions. The horse needs just a bit of relief, and you’re home free. You turn back to look at your things, your stacks of photos, every one you ever took. Your books, all the signed copies and special editions. The watch that your father gave you right before he died. Your dresser, the one you saved for two years to purchase, because it was an antique your grandmother said was a treasure. You look back at the horse, struggling. You look back at your things and then down at a latch connecting the sleigh to the horse. One pull on the lever and the sleigh is gone, the horse free. That’s all it would take. You drop your hand from the back of the sleigh and touch the warm metal. You look back at the horse, back at the sleigh, down at the latch. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
I can’t remember when in the dream I actually woke up, but we never made it to the top of the mountain. Not because I wouldn’t release the sleigh from the horse, but because my alarm went off and left me in a cliffhanger. If I have to suffer, so do you.
It’s rare these days that I remember my dreams. On occasion I’ll wake up and remember a few seconds from a dream and text a friend about it. Almost without fail, I’ll forget the dream by lunch. Gone forever to the mind, probably recycled or morphed into another subconscious memory.
But this dream was different. I didn’t even write it down, because I kept thinking about it, what it meant, what I would’ve done. It stuck with me, vivid in detail and rich in drama. That poor horse.
As a kid I used to attempt to control my dreams, and to this day I swear I was able to “control” parts of my dreams, if only for a few minutes at a time. By “control” I mean that I somehow realized while sleeping how to consciously change details of my subconscious, in real time. It was like living in a world without consequences or a conscience. Remind you of anyone?
Sadly, I haven’t been able to do that for years. But man if I had a dollar for every night I went to bed hoping to hit that perfect dream state.
A psychologist worth at least half a paycheck could tell me that this horse dream was probably caused by stress, because I hold on to too much and take on more than I should. Dr. Frasier Crane would tell me to focus on why I hesitated so long to detach the sleigh from the horse. I’m not a materialist, though I do love both photos and books. Memories and stories. Proof of a history. But I probably detached the sleigh. Probably.
Occasionally, life feels a lot like that horse ride. The bobbing and weaving, trying to avoid all the obstacles that fall into your way. The constant feeling that something bad is going to happen. The belief that all of it is too good to be true. I have this thing where, if I can’t picture myself doing something or being somewhere, then I convince myself that something or that somewhere is too good to be true. Obviously, that’s a bit mad, but I feel it nonetheless.
For example, I get into my dream school, along with a few other options. I weigh the pros and cons and decide, rationally, that I’m going to choose my dream school. But once I decide, once I start to put into motion the actions required to go to the dream school, my senses heighten. Alarm bells start to go off. Red flags pop up all over the place, from every which direction.
Part of this can be written off as imposter syndrome. The other part, I couldn’t say. Childhood trauma can wait for another day. But Dr. Crane would probably say, “Well, Adam, you might be afraid of going to your dream school. Afraid that you’ll achieve everything you ever wanted, and it won’t live up to your expectations. Is it possible that you don’t think you’re good enough? That you don’t believe you’re worthy?”
Who really knows. Dr. Crane was a television personality, after all. But more respected people have taken advice from sketchier sources. The point is, make the decision. Release the sleigh. Free your mind, and let go. See what that horsepower can really do.
Until the next ride.