The for vast majority of my life I woke up every morning feeling like I had just lain down – I knew that I must have had dreams, because everyone does, but aside from the odd once-a-year nightmare, I never remembered a thing.
Some time in the last year that changed and I wake up almost every morning remembering some snippet of what my mind created the night before. Some of these get turned into story inspiration, some just confuse the heck out of me, and some are just “huh”-worthy.
I mentioned this change in passing to someone recently and they just shrugged. For them, remembering dreams, or at least that they had dreamt, was no big deal. For me, the difference has been staggering. Not that some great store of knowledge is bequeathed to me every morning upon waking or anything of the sort, but for a few moments I get to reflect on whatever it was I dreamed, an experience that I was for so long without.
Sometimes I dream about people I don’t speak with anymore, or who don’t speak to me, story ideas and plot-lines, sometimes just weird situations and occurrences that only make sense with dream-logic.
I suppose more than anything it’s interesting to experience in my 30s, fresh and new, what so many others have experienced for the bulk of their lives.