Graveyard Dream.
"Gotta let it go, gotta let it be... lay it all down, let it rest in peace."
“What’s in the bag?”
Wade heard the question in the same way one hears the neighbor’s dog or the radio of the neighboring car at a stoplight - halfway, with a tinge of irritation. He actually got this question quite often.
“Oh, just some things I can’t leave home without,” he said through a friendly, southern (fake) grin.
The inquisitive one nodded with a smile and turned to his wife, obviously to continue making wagers as to what was in the bag.
Wade’s bag was quite worn. He had used the same one since sophomore year of college, only notable because it was the year his first real relationship ended and when his parents told him they were moving out of his childhood home. Double whammy.
This bag was not easy on the eyes though it suited him just fine, like an additional weighty layer of skin. Over time, it had become less of an inconvenience, especially on his commute to work via public transit. He knew just where to sit on the train to get the extra room without taking one of the designated handicap-accessible spots.
A door opened. Finally. Out popped a middle-aged, attractive clinician with seemingly perfect skin, a chiseled jawline, and an air about him that made you think he’d never had a bad day in his life.
“Wade?”
Wade shot out of his chair like an eager rocket, gathered his things, and walked toward the door without making eye contact with the clinician. Too intimidating.
“How are you today, sir?”
“I’m good, really good,” Wade said quickly as he passed through the familiar corridor. It smelled different, but not in a bad way.
Mr. Hollywood (a.k.a. the new guy at the practice) showed Wade to a room that he had never been in, and then mentioned that the doctor would be in momentarily.
This treatment room appeared to be new in every sense: a varied color palette, showroom floor furniture in need of breaking in, and a clock on the wall with a second hand loud enough to make a man go insane if left alone for too long. Thankfully, it only took the doctor fifty-seven ticks to arrive. Wade counted.
“There he is. I’ve been looking forward to our appointment.”
Unusual opening line for a mental health professional, but Wade decided to take the bait.
“Me too, me too. I’m doing good, really good,” Wade thought he said with his normal cadence. For some reason though, he noticed his words had come out sounding a bit nervous and in a higher register.
“I know you are, and that’s the very reason I have been anticipating this session. Wade, this will be our last appointment, if you hear me out and decide to be brave enough to trust me.”
Wade now understood why his voice sounded shaky just moments ago. Beyond the freshly stale environment of the renovated space, he had sensed something was amiss from the moment he sat down.
“Wow… ok… I’d like to think it’s because you’re moving practices or something, but I’m gathering that is not why this might be our last appointment.”
“I’m not going anywhere, but you should. Your bag shouldn’t,” the doctor said convincingly.
Immediately, Wade had a flashback to his days as a youngster when he would read the newspaper in its original printed form. Not cover to cover, just the section with the comics.
He always loved Peanuts. He started thinking about Linus, and how there was never a moment that trusty blanket wasn’t by his side. It was an expected, endearing part of Linus, just like Wade’s own tattered bag. Linus was still able to positively contribute to his community of friends. Linus was still well versed in philosophy and possessed a healthy, deep-thinking mind. Wade felt he was no different and waited for the doctor’s response, only to realize that this entire argument took place solely in his head.
Finally, Wade awkwardly broke the silence. “Yah, ok… why? So you can start carrying it around for me? God knows I pay you enough, am I right?”
The doctor wasn’t in the mood for jokes, though he did acknowledge Wade’s candor with a subtle shake of his bald head.
“We both know I won’t be doing that. And, hey, if it is our last appointment, you won’t have to pay me anymore. Maybe you can start saving up for that trip you’ve always wanted to take. Where was it… uh… Switzerland?”
“Sweden, actually. But close. You had the ‘Sw’ right.” Wade’s good mood became soured and pensive.
“Look, Wade, there is nothing wrong with the bag itself; however, you’ve made so much notable progress. There was a time when you perceived everything in that bag as relevant, vital, pertinent. And there undoubtedly is a permanence to how these things will live with you moving forward. Except, now, in light of all the intentional work on your personal growth, these things hold a healthy space within you. I’m professionally suggesting that you leave the bag behind, and I’ll see to it that it is securely discarded.”
Wade sat almost in disbelief. He had never imagined a day without the bag. It had just always been there. Whenever he wanted to pull everything out and look at it, he could. Whenever he needed to add something to it, he could and would. Often times, it brought a sense of comfort to make the bag slightly heavier.
“Doctor, I’m really, really trying to be open to this,” Wade said calmly after sitting motionless a minute or two, attempting to wrap his mind around such a radical shift. “What happens when I need it for things that have yet to happen?”
“I’m convinced you won’t need it. Learn to let it go, let it be,” the doctor stated confidently, as if he had been waiting all session to use that exact sentence, similar to how an actor prepares and then delivers a line.
“It seems strange that you would be telling a client not to return,” Wade retorted with a fleeting attempt of sass.
“It is. But, it’s also my job to tell the truth and speak from my field of expertise. We wouldn’t be having this conversation if I didn’t wholeheartedly believe you weren’t ready for it. I can guarantee that it won’t be easy. In light of your history of inconsistent sleep, I imagine there will be nights when you toss, turn and then long for the bag. This is where I trust that all of the positive strategies you’ve adopted will kick in.”
Wade, for the first time ever, found it utterly annoying how well the doctor knew him, and simultaneously thought that maybe he should leave this old, broken record of a bag behind. The decision was in Wade’s hands after all, just like countless prior decisions - most of which had eventually ended up in the bag whether they belonged there or not.
This just in - I wrote a song with the same title as this post. (Gasp!) Well, technically the song was written awhile back and inspired the post. At any rate, I’m sharing a rough demo of the tune.
If you read the post surrounding “Dancing in the Light,” then you know the drill… It is a voice memo from my phone, recorded as I was wrapping up the writing. It’s sloppy, and I sound sick or tired or both, but that also kind of fits the overarching theme of this whole post. I did fade it out before you could hear the cats start fighting. (You’re welcome.)
Hope to record this for real one day soon. Lyrics below. Until next time, my friends.
GRAVEYARD DREAM
Spent some time writing songs about my life
Hoping that somebody might hear them and feel the same
Played a few shows for nobody
Still woke up in the morning and felt like me
Picked up a pen and paper to start again
But I gotta let it go, gotta let it be
Lay it all down, let it rest in peace
Take nothing more than the memory
It’s just another graveyard dream
Gave my heart away in a leap of faith
To a girl I thought could be everything
Didn’t know what I didn’t know
For a couple years we called it love, but it was just a slow breaking up
Hard to say where it all went wrong
Every night, as I go to bed, I end up awake and in my head
Spend too much time just tracing steps, when I know it would be better yet to…