Dearest Rachel –
I fell asleep in front of the screen last night, so there’s clearly not much for me to tell you about my day. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, either; I could feel myself nodding off, so I switched to one of those videos that show a black screen and play what they claim to be therapeutic background music. Supposedly, the frequencies and harmonics are specifically designed, not just for restful sleep, but to rejuvenate the mind and realign one’s chakras. I’m sure you can guess that I don’t buy into most of that, but every now and again, I’d just as soon drift off with background noise as to the pitch blackness and dead silence that I usually favor. It’s not the most restful sleep, in my experience, since I have to transfer myself from the recliner to the bed at some point, but that’s just how it goes.
In any event, I don’t know if any of these deviations from whatever my usual bedtime routine had anything to do with it, but I had another one of those dreams that seemed insightful at the time, but once I’m awake, I have to wonder what that insight really was.
At least this time around, I wasn’t the main character, viewing things from my point of view. It all seemed to be like that of an instructional video, set in the midst of a casino (or possibly, an immersive, virtual holographic one, at any rate – it was hard to tell at the outset, but you’ll soon see what I came to this conclusion). The focus character was a young fellow – well, younger than either of us, anyway – with all the confidence that such youth provides, resting against what I can only assume was a craps table; again, for reasons that will eventually be obvious. He was pointing out all the various markings on the felt, what each of them meant, and what the payoffs were in each case. This being a dream, I couldn’t make out specifically what he was saying, but I could get the gist from where the focus was from moment to moment. As he indicated each marking on the table, he would set a chip down, presumably to indicate the bets he’d already discussed, but also to cover the bet itself. By the time he was done with his explanation, he had essentially bet on every possible roll of the dice; which he then proceeded to do.
I’ll be honest, I couldn’t tell you what he rolled, but the results of it flabbergasted him; all the chips he had spread across the entirety of the table vanished instantly, as if they had never been there in the first place (which is what had me thinking the casino was entirely virtual). He had literally lost every single bet, for every possible outcome; there wasn’t a single spot where the chips had been replaced by a larger pile, indicating that that bet had paid off. Everything was gone with a single roll. “That’s not possible!” he exclaimed, and chaos ensued, presumably scrubbing the rest of his educational video – and essentially calling a halt to the rest of my dream. I found myself glad that I hadn’t been a part of the moment, save as an observer; better, I thought, to watch and record than to have participated in that little fiasco.
So, you might be wondering, what was the great insight to come of witnessing that debacle? It couldn’t have had to do with gambling, or playing craps in particular; I’ve never understood the rules of that game (and whatever this young buck was so confidently trying to explain sounded like gibberish to me at the time, and only looked that much sillier when all of his bets got wiped out with a single throw – whether that’s possible in real life or not), nor have I ever found the scene to be remotely appealing. Nor could it have much to do with overconfidence; I don’t think many people could accuse me of having that. Granted, some of it comes with age, as does the wisdom that spawns it, but the more you learn about life, the more you realize how little you understand, or even can understand. I think I know enough to not claim that I’ve got it all figured out.
No, the first thing that hit me was a measure of gratitude that I wasn’t that fellow. I’m not sure which was worse about what happened to him; losing all that money (although since he was literally covering every possible outcome, he was going to lose most of it anyway, so that couldn’t have been it) or the embarrassment of finding himself in a situation that he didn’t understand and couldn’t explain. Probably the latter, at least from his perspective (although I wouldn’t have been happy about the former happening, which is exactly why I wouldn’t have gotten into that situation in the first place).
From there, though, it struck me that much of what we consume as media has to do with stuff that we want to see and participate in, but from a safe distance. Seeing someone else lose his money (and a certain amount of ‘face’ in the process) is amusing and relieving, as long as it’s not us. I can’t confirm it with you anymore, but I suspect it may have been why you had a taste for horror (more psychological than the B-cinema blood-and-guts, to be sure, but horror nonetheless) because, as I’ve mentioned before, I’m developing a taste for it myself. And let’s not forget the burgeoning true crime genre that’s dominating the podcast scene (which I don’t listen to, but I’m well-aware of).
But finally, it had me considering (or would it be reconsidering?) all the things I tell you about. Aside from the dreams, honey, this is all real; this is what I go through of a day or other recent time period. I wonder if this is of any interest to anyone, since it’s something that anyone could do, and with reasonable safety. Moreover, am I distracting myself by trying to figure out how to tell you about what I’m doing, or what’s going on around me, when I should be in the moment, absorbing and appreciating everything that’s happening, rather than deciding how to turn this or that moment into a story. Wouldn’t it be better for me to do something than to tell about it?
And in that moment before reaching full wakefulness, it seemed profound. Now, as much as I still understand it, it seems less so. Yes, I’m occasionally distracted, trying to devise a narrative for the events of the day, but it does mean I remember things that happened better than I used to; what I can’t specifically remember I can simply look up and read about. It’s still something I wish I used to do back in the day.
Then again, if I had taken an hour every day to record my thoughts and activities, I’d be in so much more trouble with Mohinder, I shouldn’t wonder – and let’s not even start on certain aspects of our lives that wouldn’t be for public consumption. So yeah, maybe this is just as well.
In any event, I need to get on with today, and see if anything will come of it that worth telling you about tomorrow. Keep an eye on me, honey, and wish me luck; I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 