When I was a child I had a recurrent dream about money. Alone, I sat in the garage attached to our family home by a breezeway where I was surrounded by piles and piles of money. Coins and stacks of bills formed pyramid shapes from floor to ceiling. All the money in the world was right there with me in our garage which grew in size as I counted the piles. But beyond the garage walls, the world was engulfed in flames. I couldn't see the fire, but the heat bored down on me and I knew there was no escape. Invariably, I awoke in a panic. Where was my family? Where were my friends? What good was all this money?
This dream began when I was four—my family had just moved into the home with the ever-growing garage—and it persisted into my ninth year when we moved to another home. Early on, its occurrence may have coincided with the King Midas bedtime story my mother occasionally read to me. Just guessing. And its persistence may have been inspired by parental disputes over finances because they were loud and frequent. Again, this is just a guess.
This morning, I overheard a conversation that reminded me of the dream and it occurred to me that I've never consciously defused the message. Sure, I can have money. All the money in the world. But no family. No friends. Nowhere to spend it because the world will evaporate into flames. Dang!!!
I've always had a very ambiguous relationship with money. I like having it. At times, I've been good at accruing it. But the knowledge that it has no intrinsic value has always been a stumbling block. Tonight, I will convert that knowledge into an asset by revisiting the infinitely-growing garage that houses the money. There, I will reconfigure the dream. Better late than never!
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