Free To Be Me

At times (alas, not always!), there seems to be a sort of progress in dream life. After accepting my inner seven-year-old in the dream from a couple of night’s ago (It’s a Free Country) I move on to liberate myself from an old feeling of being ostracized.

The Dream: I am in the neighborhood I lived in as a teenager, about to take a trip with my two brothers. We get into a small car and are about to pull away from the curb. For some reason I have removed my slacks, but then decide I must go back into the house to get something. I exit the car, holding my trousers first in front, then in back, switching between the two, trying to cover my underwear from public view and hoping, in vain as it turns out, that no one is about. A group of curious neighbors assembles. As I awkwardly try to cover myself, they surround me. I search for the key to the house, which I can’t find.

Meanwhile, a delivery man who can’t find the right address comes along and asks for directions. The name on the package is Slavic, something like Smoliekiev, not a name that is familiar. I tell him I don’t know the person. Of course I’m wishing that he and the whole gaggle of curious neighbors would disappear.

Then I notice what he is attempting to deliver: a small long-handled copper frying pan; and I realize it’s mine. It’s the final item to arrive of a larger order. I also understand that while we are calling the pan copper it is actually one of those pans made by fusing 3 kinds of metal. I tell the delivery man that it is for me after all. I decide to try to door without inserting a key and discover it’s been unlocked all along. I wonder that none of us (me or my brothers) remembered to lock it. I steal a look at my brothers and we all giggle at the absurdity of the situation.

I go into the house and the neighbors follow, curious to see the inside. While this is my parents’ house, it is decorated as my current house, with my paintings and embroideries. I wish it were a little tidier since it is on view of all to see. The neighbors roam through the house, checking out the various rooms.

Interpretation: Jane Teresa Anderson points out in the dreams that she interprets on her website  that the first paragraph of a dream states the problem. Since the dream is set in my childhood home I can deduce I’m dealing with a long-standing issue. I am about to take a trip with my brothers, who represent parts of me that I’m not in touch with. The word curb is significant here; while the dream “curb” is part of the street, the word also means to curtail or rein in.  That we are pulling away from the curb tells me that I am trying to move away from some sort of restraint. I’ve removed my slacks (this impending lack of restraint leaves me exposed!). There’s something I have to face (I leave the car to get something) before I can successfully “pull away from the curb.”

The dream, of course, won’t allow me to slink into the house undetected. Instead, the whole neighborhood moseys over to stare at me in my exposed state. I expect the key I’m looking for at this point is the one that will allow me to escape their prying eyes, but I’m unable to find it.

There’s some sort of delivery I have to accept before I can enter the house. The name on the package sounds Slavic, like the name I grew up with. Living in the South during the Cold War with a Russian last name was not entirely comfortable. Despite the fact that my father had a high level security clearance and went on missions with the Marines, I was often asked at school if I were a Communist. I tried explaining that had my family been Communists they would have stayed in a Communist country, but this logic was too deep for the average 10 year old. In the dream I attempt to deny my heritage, claiming no knowledge of the Russian sounding name.

But then something changes. I see what the man is trying to deliver. My two brothers and I (the three of us) are echoed in the three metals which have fused to create the one pan. The fusion of the metals represents my acceptance of the disparate parts of me represented by my brothers (the family heritage) and the melting pot that is America. Now the door magically unlocks, and we can enjoy a laugh at what had seemed so uncomfortable. I might wish I had a more presentable place to show the neighbors (too bad it isn’t tidier) but clearly, I’m not really bothered.