The trade-off with not smoking is that I get to dream again, which I didn’t know I missed.

I crawled into my bed last night after a full and sweet weekend, wanting to have someone to crawl into bed with. I thought about sending “I miss you” texts, but instead of doing that, I listened to a meditation on ease and surrounded myself with pillows.

There are pros and cons to living in Chicago. A pro would be catching a lakeside sunrise just because I can. I did that on Saturday morning. I set my alarm for 4 am, made my coffee, and jogged the half mile to the lake because my Uber driver wouldn’t bring me any further. The running woke me up more than the coffee did. Once I found a spot to settle onto, I closed my eyes, took a second, and breathed deeply. Upon opening them, I was happy to see that I wasn’t the only one with the desire to watch something magical happen. The other small groups of folks and individual persons with the same idea made me feel less alone. We said nothing to each other, but we didn’t have to; we all were there for the same thing.

The sun looked like it was resurrecting from the lake. I know that’s not how that works, but my eyes told me a different story. With my knees to my chest and arms wrapped around my legs, I let the rising sun fill me with what I’d been missing: beauty outside myself. This happens every day: the rising, the resurrection. I know it won’t be the last time I go there and do that. It was a simple gift to me from the earth. I felt so small, held, and amazed by the feeling light could give me.

I experienced a minor con last night; it woke me from my sleep at 2 am. It brought me out of my dream, which bothered me the most. I live off a busy street, and the sounds from Cicero are something I’ve grown accustomed to. The noise that woke me last night wasn’t from Cicero; it was on my street, just outside my bedroom windows. Two men were fucking around with the motorcycle that’d been parked over the weekend. They were revving the engine, one sitting on the bike and the other blasting music from a portable speaker. Something came over me. The dream I’d been having was what I’d hoped I’d have. Someone came to me in this dream and held me. I don’t recall seeing them in real life, but they say that people in your dreams are those you had to see at some point in the world. Our minds can’t make up people in that way. I don’t know what is scientifically accurate, but I was grateful for this stranger and their role in my subconscious.

I was half asleep and so angry, being woken up at the hour that I was, ripped from the softness my brain had given me because two fuckfaces wanted to play vroom vroom with their big boy bike. Give me a fucking break. My opened windows had their blinds drawn, so my face remained hidden when I shouted, “It’s 2 in the fucking morning!” My voice was drowned out by the revving engine and the music blaring. It only increased my frustration. My mind immediately began to spiral, now thinking that this ordeal would last longer than just a few moments and that I wouldn’t be able to fall back to sleep again. I’ve just begun to fall back into a normal sleeping pattern, and the thought of being robbed of that due to something outside my control made me feel upset, like a child who desperately needs a nap.

There was a lull in the noises just as I was about to make my way to the living room, hopeful I’d be able to pick my dream back up from where it stopped. I go back to my window, see the men still outside, and then think to slam my window shut. This worked, to my surprise. They both immediately looked up my way, and I had no concern about if they saw me. I went to the other window, repeating what I’d said before, but not needing to shout it this time because I had their attention, “It’s 2 in the fucking morning.” Slam! I watched them break their glance from looking up at my bedroom to at each other. In a matter of seconds, the one on the bike rode away, and the other with the speaker began to walk up the alley and away from my building, the music still playing but not at its full volume.

Feeling my shoulders relax, I lay back down in my bed. My mind tries to fill me with anticipatory anxiety about what Monday morning would look like in a few hours. How many emails would be waiting for me? How hard will I have to use my brain to navigate what’s to come? I told myself, speaking with my mouth instead of letting the words sit in my mind, “Jen, don’t do this. Be sweet to yourself. You know you want to dream, so let’s get back to it.”

I wasn’t able to find the person who held me before in the second set of dreaming, but I suppose the one time was enough. Whoever they are, I hope they feel my gratitude.

Until next time.