Dream Trip

 Had a dream the other night that Jen and I were setting off on a cross country drive in a 1949 Ford Coupe. The car was shiny, fresh-off-the-new-car-lot and a deep black with some burnt orange accents around the trim. It was an absolute stunner.

Why were we headed to the West Coast? Why not?

The car was spacious and wondrous—like a living room on wheels. The weather, for the start of our trip, was glorious. I've never been to L.A. and was way psyched.

Now that the weather will be getting warmer, hopefully soon and snow is mostly outta the picture, I'm eager to get up and go places. A New England road trip, a ride down to Truro and Provincetown, a weekend of museum hopping in NYC all sound tremendous.

Speaking of NYC, I woke from a dream this morning where I was living in Hell's Kitchen. This was the Hell's Kitchen of my 20s (I was healthy, mobile and trim so I must've been young too), back when the average rent for a studio apartment was well under a grand. The neighborhood's rent now starts in the mid $3,000s.

What was I doing in this dream? Rushing around, taking care of business, wearing an unlikely dark blue, short cotton dress imprinted with small white flowers (très mundane). Nothing special. What's the dream telling me, what does it represent? Beats me. 

I wonder how radically, insanely different my life would have been had I moved to NYC instead of Boston.

VERY.