Answering your own call

I was house-sitting for my parents a few years ago when I had a really disturbing dream. I was still single and they were on vacation and needed to make sure the house wasn’t so cold that our cat, Buster, wouldn’t end up as a fuzzy lollipop. Also to feed him.

I had just ended a long shift at the movie theater (yes, it was as awesome as it sounds) and fell asleep on the couch after turning the heat up.

As I drifted into a very deep sleep, the kind that paralyzes you, I heard my cell phone ring. It was really ringing in both my dream and in reality. These are the dreams I hate the most because you never know what’s real. It kept ringing and eventually, in my dream, I picked it up.

I said hello and on the other end was a slightly older woman. She asked if she could speak with Angela, and that it was Angela calling. It was me. I had answered the phone to myself.

Besides this being Freudian-ly profound (ansa ze caul to yourzelf?), it was really creepy at the time…and now, actually.

I don’t exactly remember our conversation, but I do remember us both being confused. I think she was the older version of me, a real estate agent, and looking to contact…herself?There was unfortunately no warnings or fortunes told during the dream, which would’ve been awesome (don’t take that job you’re going to be offered in a year!), but I woke up feeling first, really effing scared, and second, kind of like I time-traveled in a way.

It was really my mom calling, by the way, asking how the house was. She knew I was napping and apologized as soon as I answered the phone. I don’t ever nap so I’m not sure how she knew that…

I’ve been thinking about that dream a lot lately and I think it’s important to answer yourself when you call. That sounds crazy. What I mean is, if something is calling to you, over and over and over, don’t send it to voicemail. Answer it. I have ignored writing for a very long time. I don’t mean blogging (which is the loveliest project), I mean my book. Essays to be published, long-term dreams to be had. I was meant to do it and it always calls to me and I very often let it ring. It’s because I’m scared I will fail. I’m scared I’m crap and that it will only prove to be a frustrating endeavor with nothing to show for it. So, putting that pressure on it really helps to keep it low on my list of priorities.

I don’t want so much time to pass that I never accomplish this goal. Even if I fail it’s far too important. It doesn’t mean I won’t accomplish any others and it doesn’t mean that buying a house and starting a family isn’t on my list of things I’d like to do in life, but this one is a big one. And one I’ve had since I was a little girl. One worth finishing.

I’ve been trying to get back to it, even though my book looks like a hot mess right now. I must, for me, and future real-estate me (what?), finish it. I spent years on it already. I feel its weight on me at night sometimes, asking to be finished.

We must answer the calls we send to ourselves; listen to the whispers, the distant dreams, and the inklings in the back of our heads. They are calling for a reason.

Mine literally got my cell phone number. How are yours trying to contact you?