A Blank Page

I had a dream. Everywhere I looked there was solid cement, right to the edge of the world. Flat, grey, hard, in every direction. I woke up and thought, oh my God, what kind of depression am I in?

I am an executive coach. It is part of my business life, and it means I know how useful it is to have a coach of my own. So I told her about the cement.

She did not try to reassure me. She asked one question.

"Well, what else could it mean?"

Just that. And I sat with it. What if it doesn't mean that? What if it isn't a wasteland? What if it means that you have a blank page, and at this time of your life you can actually put anything you want on that page?

Putting things on the page

Once I saw it that way, the cement stopped frightening me. A blank page is not empty because something was taken from it. It is empty because nothing has been written yet.

So I started writing things on it. Small things, at first. Then one that I had carried around for years: go to Verona and see the opera. It's not a crazy idea. Put that on your page. Just do it.

I bought the ticket. The rest of the trip is still being worked out.

The harder questions

The dream was the easy part. The questions it leaves behind are the ones I keep answering.

Do you have the courage to be happy? Can you do it for yourself? Can you stop blaming yourself for what you can't change, and just turn your view upward? What can you do?

I do not have a tidy answer to any of them. What I have is a page with a few things written on it, in my own handwriting, and room for more.

Come on. Try, try.