Undiscovered Rooms

When I was a little girl, my grandparents lived in a colonial-style house that was built in the 1950s. It was full of furniture from that time. About 10 years ago, my grandmother sold her house and downsized to a smaller condo in a warmer climate and I got my pick of her furniture. We’d recently finished remodeling our home and didn’t have any money for furniture so I gladly took over a dozen pieces and several accessories.

We live in a Chicago-style bungalow that was originally built in the 1910s. It has walnut-colored wood floors and white cabinetry. Mid-century furniture doesn’t make sense in our house but I don’t care. 

I have many fond memories of exploring my grandparents’ house and finding the games (Candyland and Uno, in particular) they kept in their living room end table or the dresser where I stored my pajamas when I spent the night. There’s also the coffee table in the living room that we weren’t allowed to touch. I avoided that room.

So it makes perfect sense that when I was going through a difficult time professionally last November, I dreamt about their house. In the dream, I discovered rooms I’d never been in before. These rooms were full of interesting furniture that I couldn’t wait to go through. They were mid-century style but with fun upholsteries and fabrics. My grandmother and I have always had divergent taste in colors and textures.

This dream was one of many I had with a similar theme: an undiscovered room full of treasures I was curious and excited to explore. Every time I had the dream, I woke up before I could get started.

In my waking life this theme began to show up in my work. I had a job I was good at with co-workers I liked; however, it thwarted my creativity and robbed me of my energy. There was no room for intellectual curiosity and my nervous system was chronically in fight-or-flight mode. I was a teacher aide.

At the outset the dreams seemed unrelated to my work because their settings were so different. The feelings I had were not. I felt the beginnings of curiosity followed by the disappointment of running out of time. At work I’d find myself longing to be a student in an art class or checking books out of the library. These were activities I didn’t have the time or energy to do in my off hours. Instead, I spent that time trying to rest and recover so I could keep functioning at work.

One day, early in the school year, I burst into tears. I hated myself at that moment because I didn’t want to be overwhelmed. I wanted to be able to stay at this job until I retired and I was upset with myself and my body for not being able to suck it up and push through. 

One morning, while journaling, The Universe said to me, You and I both know you’re running. Don’t you think it’s time you stopped?

The Universe had patiently waited and watched as I ran in the opposite direction of my creativity for decades. I knew that it would let me keep running if I insisted but I also knew that it was time to start betting on myself—start trusting myself and the decisions that I'd make.

I decided to leave. 

Now I trust there are treasures waiting.