Wednesday, December 9, 2009

My life, the novel

When I post here about my life, I really feel more like a novelist telling a story. I think a novelist would feel the same way about his/her characters and how their lives unfold. It's dramatic and interesting, but it's not always an accurate description of what is real. It's just one person's point of view. Even then, my own point of view shifts and changes with time, so it's a snapshot of something that may be quite unreal in the larger sense.

The last post was from a place and time far, far away and not often brought to light. When I try to remember it, it is so shifting and hazy, and I remember through a thick veil, not distinctly. I have always had this really indistinct memory. Maybe I am constantly not paying attention to the external so much as the internal life. I relate to a fictional character in one of Scott Peck's novels. (He writes mostly nonfiction, but this was a work of fiction.) It was a man who was paralyzed and was asked how he could bear to live with so many limits. He answered, "I have a rich inner life." And I fear I am remembering that passage incorrectly.

So, when I post something that seems overly dramatic, or sad, or passionate -- it is a story that I tell, for reasons not always clear to me. Don't take it too seriously, and I won't either.

So, I asked (God) to help me remember my dreams last night, and I did remember some fragments. I have to be intentional about remembering dreams. It's an effort, just like everything else!

Here's what I recall. I answered my cell phone and some guy started talking. The voice sounded very familiar (like Marty, who by the way never would normally call me), but I said, jokingly, who is this? I need to know your name. And it turned out it was not who I thought it was but a stranger calling to interview me for a job, so I felt I had been overly flippant and familiar. But I still maintained that relaxed tone, talking with this person about my beliefs and values, having an interesting conversation which I now forget. I was feeling insecure, thinking I might have blown this job opportunity, but it was more important to be myself. Marty, to me, is a very serious and intense person, but I like him. He has a lot of integrity.

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