Since ATF (after the fire), I have been more aware of my dreams than BTF (before the fire). I’m not sure why, but sometimes the why is not particularly relevant.
I had a most peculiar dream the other night that I want to share with you. I dreamed I lost my passport. I love to analyze everybody else’s behavior, so I thought I would try figuring out my own situation before letting a shrink have a go at it.
My passport is one of the very few things I did not lose in the fire that consumed my home and all its contents. My bride takes our passports with us wherever and whenever we travel by air, even domestically. So, I can only guess that with the insecurity that naturally follows a loss of almost all of my earthly possessions, I might be fearful of losing whatever else I still have.
Now, if that is not an adequate explanation, let’s go for rationale No. 2. My parents’ passport photos were lost in the blaze. Perhaps the dream is my way of coping with the loss of all the belongings they passed down to me.
My brother Phil, the therapist, had a different way of explaining my dream. “Burt, a passport is used for purposes of identification, and when you lost your home and everything in it, you lost much of your identification.” That’s why they pay Phil the big bucks.
I have one final interpretation. My passport represents travel and, until now, I loved to travel—but the last time I took a trip, my home burned down. Perhaps the dream is telling me to stay right here in Malibu, which is exactly what I intend to do.
I promise never again to share my dreams with you, of course, unless I do (spoken like a true politician). All of this talk of dreams is making me sleepy, so I’m going to bed.