I am awaiting my luggage in baggage claim at London Heathrow Airport. On this first day of our Dickens Destinations trip, twenty-five other tour members are with me, doing the same thing. They’ve all retrieved their bags; only the last one — mine — has not come. And it never does.
How could I have been SO stupid as to put my notes for all my six Dickens lectures in that bag? And I am set to give the first in about five hours. I am doomed.
I remember that dreadful feeling as if it were yesterday. Actually, it occurred this morning at 2:15am. That’s what my clock read when I awoke from that nightmare.
I am pretty sure that no matter what else happens to me today, my waking up will be the highlight of my day, a beautiful moment of immediate relief to be savored. At 2:14am, I was experiencing the worst torment of all public speakers: not being able to perform to an already assembled audience. At 2:15, that nightmare was gone when sudden consciousness told me that it was, indeed, only a dream.
I’ve never understood why the term “dream” not only refers to those scenarios we concoct in our minds during sleep, but just as often refers to a cherished ideal, a strong vision for the future that we hope to achieve. Perhaps Dr. Martin Luther King’s “I Have A Dream” speech is the best example.
We have always attached such a positive connotation to dreams. I find this odd because the majority of my dreams (that are vivid enough for me to remember) certainly do not fall into the category of cherished ideals. If you’re like me, most of your dreams are quite bizarre in storyline, illogical in structure, and based on symbolically trying to work out recent anxieties or unresolved issues. Yes, of course there are the occasional “sweet dreams,” but the reality is that most actual dreams seem to be more preposterous than pretty.
Ironically, it is the bad dreams that bring us instant uplift. When else in life are we able to travel from torment to relief in the blink of — actually, in the opening of — an eye?
I am happy to inform you that my essay will not now descend into the territory of The American Dream and the sad realization that one of the few beliefs that unite our divided populace is that this once sacred Dream, similar to the cherished ideals that Dr. King spoke of, seems to be dying in this generation. Oops, I promise no more descending.
Instead, I want to share a memory of a junior high school American history project I was assigned back in the early 1960’s. We were to interview our parents on what the American Dream meant. Mom always deferred to Dad on homework matters. I still remember him answering, sitting in our den in his favorite corduroy upholstered armchair.
“Well, Elliot, you buy one item for two dollars, sell it for $4, and repeat this over and over until you make enough profit that you are able to buy a nice home with a yard and live a comfortable, secure life in freedom. That’s the American part.” Dad paused and smiled at me. “Then your rich uncle dies and leaves you a fortune. That’s the Dream part.”
I relate this incident not so much to share with you my dad’s definition, but to show you how my father set a wonderful example for me, before I was even a teenager, in how to impart information laced with good-natured humor. It was an invaluable lesson that is still the bedrock of every lecture I have ever given and of every essay I have ever written, including this one, I hope.
Although I have endured many bad dreams, such as my recurring “lecturer with no notes” agony, and although such dreams make me feel like I want to die, I have yet to have perhaps the worst nightmare of all, the one with the ghastly scenario of being about to experience one’s own violent death. I believe I have avoided that one simply because I have always known for a fact that I am going to live forever.
So far, so good.
Email Elliot at huffam@me.com or click here