Dream geography

Does this ever happen to you? You find yourself in the same familiar places in dreams, over and over, known in the dream world, but not ones you've seen in waking life. It's not a recurring dream, but the same locale returned to regularly as you sleep.

It happens to me. I have a slowly emerging map of my subconscious, especially the anxious and fear-filled places but some of comfort. When I was young it was the lake side with a volcano in the distance. What would happen there varied (as it does, there were not recurring dreams but places) and it always had a slight scent of sulfur and menace. For many years I would find myself on top of the unfinished building, looking out over the same city scape, not a place I recognize though something like 1970's New York City. It's cold and windy, unsteady and unsafe. There is an elevator that took me there but I can't get one to bring me back down. There have been specific woodlands, buildings, rooms, beaches, all places I return to again and again in my dreams. Some eventually fade away entirely, but most continue to make Special Guest Appearances from time to time.

Most recently I've been dreaming of an indoor slum, deep underground, constricted and claustrophobic except when it opens into vast caverns. It was purpose-built to hold people; I can't really say house people, none of these rooms qualify as homes. They are industrial, kind of futuristic, and very small. Outside the rooms is a warren of narrow passageways with un-railed walkways over treacherous crevasses. It is not a safe, comforting, or easy place to manage, but in every dream I am trying to get back there for reasons that vary widely. In this morning's visit I needed to get back to my room so I could change clothing for a job.

What I find particularly interesting about this place is the steps I must take to get there. It is clearly a related to the magic woods of wonder tales, because if I don't follow the proper route and say the right things, all will be lost. I don't remember it clearly in the waking world, but it has deep familiarity in the dream world. I must go through several buildings, take elevators to specific floors and follow certain routes. I pass over a footbridge and must discard that which I am carrying. I can cross, but not with any things (yeah, I know, it's a pretty blunt symbol). From there I enter a dark building with a winding path through mounds that could be hills or could be trash. There are three people along the path, a man I must not see, someone else I must not hear, and an old woman whom I must treat kindly. I remember she had enormous feet blocking the path and it was by calling her grandmother, massaging her swollen legs, and embracing her (though she smelled terrible) that I could continue.

So it is in dreams. I have thought of trying to map them but somehow that feels unwise. I wonder sometimes if these places with their specific features and requirements are ever visited by others, if there is some kind of shared dream geography. Perhaps there is an old woman dreaming of kindness who calls me into the dream land when she needs it. I don't know. What I do know is that I love the depth of these places, the ways the symbols I find there are in the same language as fairy tales, and that the stories change while the landscape may not. It gives me a sense of mystery and wonder, even if the dreams are not always comfortable.

All of this reminds me of the 1962 short film La Jette, remade as 12 Monkeys. If you've not seen it, in the not too distant future humanity has had to retreat underground. There is a man who has the same recurring image in his dream and this is used as a path to send him back in time, to stop the triggering event that led to the current dystopia. Such strong, recurrent dream images and geographies can't help but feel meaningful and real.

Do you have dream realms? What are they like for you? What do they mean for you? And have you ever been to an underground indoor slum with a magical path for entry? If so, wave next time. I'll try to wave back.

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(c)2019 Laura S. Packer

Observations from the road

Travel is a big part of my work. Storytelling isn't a local experience for me; I teach, speak, tell, coach, and consult all over the nation and sometimes the world. While it's sometimes challenging, I generally really like it, not only because I love my work but because it gives me a chance to see places I might not otherwise visit. Whether flying or driving, there is always something to see, someone to hear, something to ponder.

I've started keeping a journal of some of the things I see and hear; I thought you might be interested in a few of these observations. I've scrubbed specifics, so no particular place or person is easily identifiable.

1. I am somewhere in middle America. I am hungry and don't have time to go searching for a sit-down dinner. Besides, I love fried chicken even though I feel guilty every time. I walk into a fried chicken joint near by cheap hotel. There are no tables, a few chairs for waiting, and a set of metal shelves to one side with a miscellaneous array of groceries. The only decoration is a poster of the American Olympic team and another of the local baseball franchise. Both have prominent American flags. The restaurant is owned by an Indian man, an immigrant. All patrons but me are African American; the owner welcomes them all by name. As I wait for my order a woman tells me she hates fried chicken except for the wings she can get in this place. "They're delicious here," she says. "I don't know how he does it." A family comes in communicating in sign language. The young man deaf and the man behind counter pulls out an illustrated menu so he can order. When my dinner arrives I take it to my hotel. The woman is right, the wings are delicious.
2. I am somewhere on the West Coast, taking a walk in a park with a playground. I see an older white woman holding hands with a small African-American girl. They are having an animated conversation and clearly love each other. The woman is wearing a "Make America Great Again" t-shirt. The woman glances at me and I smile, "Is she your grand-daughter? She's lovely!" The woman beams. "Yes, isn't she!" She and I start to chat about kids and I eventually say, "I know we live in divided times, may I ask about your shirt?" She looks at me warily then sighs. "I know. I think Mr. Trump is doing good things for the country. He's a business man and will make us great again. Just because I support him doesn't mean I'm a racist. I love my grandchildren!" I nod and we sit in the sunlight, watching her grandchild play.
3. I am driving through a Midwestern state. The land around me is broad and gentle. I can see plow marks in the soil and smell the fertilizer. It's a sharp odor and I want to wrinkle my nose, but this powers our agricultural landscapes. I see a plume that at first I think is smoke, but then realize it is dust from a truck barreling along a gravel road paralleling the highway. This is flyover country, but I love the details I can see from down here at ground level. There is an abandoned barn, collapsed more than the last time I drove past it. There is a farmhouse protected from the sweeping gusts by a stand of trees that are bent over from the constant winds. There is the road, ribboning out before me, endless and shimmering in the heat. There is the sky streaked with contrails that dissolve into long sweeping clouds, endless and blue and bright.

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laurapacker.com Performance, coaching, keynotes, and more.
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(c)2019 Laura S. Packer

50 for 50 day 15: Stranger in a strange land

This is the 15th of 50 posts celebrating my 50th birthday. You can see the rest here.

I am writing this as I sit on a train heading from New York City to Boston. I woke yesterday in my own Minnesota home, flew 1500 miles and now am journeying another 200 or so. It is nothing short of miraculous. I am awed that this journey, once so very long, dangerous and fraught, is now commonplace enough that I am the only one staring out the window at the world passing my.

Right now the train is passing old industrial buildings with tall, precarious smokestacks; graffiti; homes that might be places of refuge or fear, just like any home. 

There are as many platitudes about travel as there are travelers so I won't bore you with them. Instead I will tell you that one of my favorite feelings is that of being a stranger in a strange land. It might be when I'm in an unfamiliar neighborhood, it might be when I'm been someplace far from home. The degree of feeling can vary tremendously, of course, but every single time it happens I am reminded of my smallness and my individual nature.

Right now the train is passing a pond and park. The green is that faded autumn green and the bridge leading into the park over the pond (or river) has low elegant arches and a draw in the middle for any passing watercraft. The gulls shimmer white against the water.

When I have found myself facing great trauma, I tend to travel. I go someplace far from home where I can remind myself of this: I am a tiny speck in the universe, effectively immeasurable, but no less unique and vital. It's been a great comfort, being reminded of my own minuteness and paradoxical necessity. After Kevin's death I went to Alaska so I could feel small and be reminded that his death meant he was now a part of everything, so big and broad and lovely.

Right now the train is passing through an urban forrest. Heavy vines cling to the telephone lines running alongside the tracks. The flickering light between the trees reveals rusted shopping carts and a shack that might be home or long abandoned.

We need those reminders, those steps beyond what's comfortable, to remember that we are neither the center of the universe nor unnecessary. When we are strangers in a strange land we have the opportunity to see the world as it is: Pulsing. Vibrating. Ever present, even when we want to hide. Enormous and chaotic and mysterious. Reachable but never something we can encompass. Yet still something that has room for each us and might even celebrate us on occasion.

Right now the train is passing a broad expanse of train tracks, lines that never touch converging in the distance, the illusion more powerful than my understanding of how it may really be. There are parking lots to the side, full of cars that, in this quick glimpse, all seem pristine. The stone walls of the train tunnel would smell like cool time and the momentary scent of metal hot from friction. 

This is what 50 looks like. A stranger in a strange land, observing, welcoming, here.
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(c)2017 Laura S. Packer

The Telling Life: Ten tips for the road weary storyteller and others

You may have noticed I've not been posting quite as regularly lately. This is because I've been working a lot, which is great. Most of the work hasn't been near my home and has included very long hours, which is fine, but takes some management. I'm learning a lot about self-care, energy management and efficient packing so I thought I'd share. I'd love to know your favorite road-warrior tips! Please add them in the comments so others can benefit.

1. TSA-PreCheck. I know, you're thinking this is a waste of money. It's not. Airport security lines are just getting longer and the $85 I spent on my Known Traveler Number has saved me hundreds of hours in line. I can be pretty confident that arriving an hour ahead of time is enough and I won't miss my flight; if you don't have TSA-PreCheck that's no longer a guarantee.
   If you're concerned about the government having your fingerprint or running a background check, that's another matter. You have to follow your conscience.  
2. Money vs. time. It's always a trade-off. TSA-PreCheck, for example, is an excellent example where the cost per hour of the clearance is likely quite low for me. I expect the $85 spread out over the time it has saved me is barely $1/hour. My time is worth more than that. Likewise, when I park at the airport I use the lot where they pick me up and drop me off at my car. It's .50 more/day when I use a coupon and this way I don't have to wait for up to 30 minutes for a shuttle. Other things aren't worth it, but I always make sure I consider the trade-off between time and money when I can.  
3. The right bags. I travel with two bags, my laptop backpack and my carry-on duffel. I use a duffel rather than a roller because I can get almost as much in it and it almost always fits in the overhead section, so I don't have to gate-check it. My duffel can carry about a week's worth of clothing along with all my toiletries and other sundries. Admittedly, I don't wear clean trousers every day, but it works. I'm currently using this bag because, if I want to bring my camera instead of my laptop bag, it's equipped for it. 
4. Effective packing. My duffel wouldn't work if I didn't pack effectively. For one, I roll things instead of folding them. This takes up less room. For another, I make choices about what I can wear more than once (come on, you do this, too). I also make sure I'm wearing comfortable shoes for the travel days and pack only one other pair for work purposes. I also have a toiletries baggie that I leave packed and in the duffel. 
5. E-readers and other technology. You can carry hundreds of books if you have an e-reader. Yes, I prefer paper books, but this technology has been life-changing for thousands of travelers.
   Equally, I use a number of apps that make everything MUCH easier. TripIt is amazing.
6. Important info. I keep all kinds of important info in a notes program on my phone. This includes airline and hotel contact numbers. I was on a flight that was significantly delayed. We sat on the tarmac for close to an hour before they told us we were going to deplane and would have to wait several hours for another plane. This meant I wouldn't be home until the next day. I was already tired and cranky. As soon as the announcement was made, while still on the airplane, I called the airline and was rebooked on a flight leaving in 45 minutes. If I didn't have that number handy I might not have called.
   I also upload copies of presentations, notes and handouts to Dropbox, so I have backup copies that aren't dependent on my technology. Sometimes I copy them to a thumb drive that I carry with me. Technology can fail so keep backups of important info. And you already back your computer up before you hit the road, right?
7. Mobile office. I have a mobile office that lives in my laptop backpack. It includes pens, a notebook, chargers for everything I might carry, a mini-powerstrip, paper-clips and so on. It adds a little weight but has been incredibly helpful when I'm working on the road. I also carry a little bottle of hand-sanitizer attached to my bag so I am less likely to catch a cold while traveling. 
8. Don't assume you'll remember everything. I keep lists, writing down even the most obvious of things. Right now, when I have only a day at home, my list includes things like: laundry, pack (with a sublist of what I'll need), blog, dishes, buy toothpaste. These are simple things that I'd like to think I could remember, but I know I have such a dense schedule, I don't want to wake up before my big meeting and find I've run out of toothpaste.
9. Timing. Timing is everything. Give yourself enough time and make choices about what will get done. You may not have time for everything. Maybe you'll need to ask for help. This is where lists can come in handy!
10. Sleeping and other habits. Just because you're on the road you don't have to lose all of your good habits. Try to eat well on the road. Stay hydrated. Get enough sleep. I carry a few binder clips in my duffel because often hotel blinds don't close quite all the way and the room can be bright. I sleep better in the dark. Do what you can to continue the same good habits that you have at home while you're on the road. A little thought can go a long way to staying healthy on the road and back home.
11. Mindfulness, patience and wonder. Your bonus tip is one of the most important. Remember, things will get screwed up. The computer hook-up will fail, the flight will be cancelled, you'll forget something important at home. You have some control over how you react to these things. If you get angry and frustrated things will seem even worse. If you can take a deep breath and remain calm, you may find people are more likely to help you and, at a minimum, your blood pressure won't spike. Most service people (like gate agents, pilots, hotel clerks and so on) are doing the best they can. A smile and thank you can go a long way. By being mindful that we are all in this together, by practicing a little patience, your travel hiccups will at least be easier to bear.
    And don't forget, you're in a new place doing work you chose. Even if you don't have time to explore, enjoy the sound of regional speech. Ask your hosts about what they love. Chat with the people in the airport waiting next to you, they may have wonderful stories to share. Don't lose the wonder of being on the road and the road will hold you up.

I'd love to know what tips and tricks have worked for you. I hope this list is helpful as you hit the road for work and adventure!

(c)2016 Laura S. Packer

Displacement

As you know, last January I moved from Boston to Kansas City. It has generally been a positive change, though parts of it continue to be challenging. This makes sense, any kind of big life change requires patience; I’m thinking of it as evolution, it takes time to adapt.

Over the last six weeks I have had a number of work engagements in Boston, leaving my new home and going back to the old. This gives me an enormous feeling of displacement. While it’s wonderful seeing people I’ve missed and visiting some of my old favorites, I have a great sense of not-belonging.

Let me explain. 

Kansas City is starting to feel like home. I have a few favorite haunts, I am making friends, I am well settled into our home. My life has some routine and regularity now. I have a favorite grocery store and movie theater. I am beginning to relax though I don’t yet feel rooted. 

All that being said, I still get lost. I don’t know how to get places. The traffic patterns are occasionally surprising. I’m still looking for suitable equivalents for various things I love. The weather is still new to me. I am still learning the social mores.  I am sometimes lonely. Every day I am reminded of my newness in this place. And every day I remind myself that this is now home. I know where my bed is. My beloved is here. I am learning.

Back in Boston, I know the roadways. I know the shortcuts. I have my old favorites, the things that most comfort me. I have a community. But I don’t have a home base here. My friends are very welcoming, making places for me in their homes as warm as the place I already hold in their hearts. 

And here is where the cognitive dissonance lies. I keep thinking I should either feel at home in Boston or feel homesick when I’m in Kansas City, but neither have happened. I don’t feel at home in Boston anymore, though I feel comfortable. And I don’t feel homesick for Boston when I’m in KC, because that is becoming home. But neither are home the way I have living for the last 20+ years. So I end up feeling displaced.

What I’m telling myself when I feel adrift, is that this is in fact an incredibly valuable time. By not being rooted I can see what remains of me when I don’t have a geographical center. And I find that mostly I am the same, but not entirely. 

I move a bit differently. My skin is my home now. My observations of the world, my home. The moment is my home in ways it never was. To a large degree, this displacement has given me a greater appreciation and awareness of presence than I’ve experienced as an adult. I have become my own center. And for that, I am grateful.

The task at hand becomes retaining that sense of presence wherever I am, regardless of whether I am rooted or adrift. 

This moment. 

This city.

This breath.

I find myself home.

(c)2013 Laura S. Packer

Things I have seen in Coffeyville

I'm in Coffeyville, KS for a week, telling stories to elders and high school students. There is a lot to say about it, but for now let me share some images. 

- the empty downtown, bronze in the evening light, with empty store fronts that clearly thrived in the 1940s. Now the pool hall and video game store are lively, and even this is a slow-motion kind of life. 

- the very long beard on the man three tables away in the cafe. No hipster irony, it's been like this (I'm sure) for decades. 

- the friendly waves. 

- the sky, bright and grey. This land remembers flood and drought, locusts and plenty. It is as though the dust decades ago scoured time away.