The other day, I woke up right on time. I had been dreaming. In the dream, I was searching through the things that I had left behind. They were all at PEHP. It didn’t look like PEHP and it didn’t have any of the people I remember, but I thought it was PEHP. I found important things of mine along with the stupid things. Clothes that went to the DI long ago mixed in with important photographs. I was frantically searching. Sceverenia was there and someone who adored me was in charge. I was trying to gather the important things that I had lost. To make matters worse, there was a forest fire outside the building. They were evacuating people, but I stayed, looking for my artifacts.

I woke up feeling like I had lost everything. I still feel the panic worrying about all those things. I had found a pair of old pajamas. They smelled like my mom. I knew my mom was alive, but they smelled like something I would never get back: my home in West Valley, and my life before I gave up on Corporate America.

When I was a teenager, I didn’t want anything to do with business. I planned on being a teacher so I could write. When teaching didn’t work out, I went scurrying back to the business world. I had never wanted a part in it, but I wanted their luxuries like health insurance. I am finally living that life that I wanted to live. I am a writer. I write every day. I get paid for my writing. Yet, I lost something in Corporate America. I don’t know what it is, but it’s important.

I had this dream when I was in San Antonio. Saint Anthony was the patron saint of children and lost items. Before I fell asleep the night before that dream, I asked San Antonio to help me find what I have lost. Ever since we moved to Sugarhouse, I have been having dreams that I have lost something very important. It’s something different in every dream. I asked San Antonio to help me find out what I have lost to put those dreams to rest.

Then I had that disturbing dream. I was looking for some pictures of a long ago crush and old friends. I had made a collage of photos that was actually quite beautiful. I couldn’t find them, but I KNEW they were there because I had see them there before. I kept finding important things among the silly and inconsequential. I never did find the photos or collage.

I don’t believe that I am missing a group of photographs. In my dream, I had lost something at PEHP. When I worked there, I still believed that I could make it in the corporate world. I felt like it was beneath me, but I thought I could live there and achieve greatness in my spare time. By the time I quit, I was planning on becoming a full-time writer. I learned very quickly that I wasn’t ready to be a full time writer yet.

Somehow I feel like I’m not ready for anything. The websites are doing well, but I feel like it’s all just part of a bubble. At any time, I could lose it all and have to run to a “real” job to make ends meet. When I worked at PEHP, I truly felt like I was destined to take the world by storm. Now, I feel like I just want to do my best to make the world a little better. I lost all that surety that I would be alright. I want that cockiness back.

Is it really good for me? That feeling of security that we should be something great? I expected fame, but I don’t know if that’s something I should be clinging to right now. I’m not really in need of fame. It seems like it’s not as important as achieving something. Of course, no one will know I’ve achieved anything if I don’t have some modicum of fame. Am I content with future generations appreciating my work unbeknownst to me? Will any of my work survive history? Will any of it be worth reading in the future? A lot of what I write won’t survive. It’s too fluffy. What I think about Mario Kart isn’t going to mean anything when people read it in 100 years. If I could read Andy Warhol’s opinions on the Andy Griffith Show, would I care? Probably not…

Maybe it’s not that at all. Maybe it all has to do with the photos and collage. Maybe I’m just missing my old friends…