I recently wrote a Question of the Day about dreams, in which I noted that I can decode the meanings of some of my own dreams, if I spend time thinking about them. Today I’d share one of those dreams with you.

It wasn’t the sort of dream that was immediately riveting, or obviously profound at first glance.  It was the sort of dream I might have easily overlooked. It was like–have you ever walked along the beach looking for interesting stones? This dream was like a stone that you might have walked right past without noticing it. It wasn’t bright and dazzling in a way that would immediately grab your attention. But if you were walking slowly and were looking carefully, you might notice little golden flecks that caught the sun, and sparkled a bit as you walked by. Then you might pick it up and turn it over in your hand, realizing that there was more to this particular beach pebble than immediately meets the eye.

That’s how this dream was for me. I mean, the plotline–what I can remember of it–was pretty limited. Kind of lame, actually. But for some reason it caught my attention.


I had this dream a couple months ago. Not sure where it took place, but it seemed to be a place like a college campus. Wherever it was, there was a group of buildings that were all part of the same organization, but you had to go outside on the grass and pavement to pass from one building to another.

I was with some people, though, again, I have no idea who they were. After spending some time inside one of the buildings, I needed to go outside and head to one of the other buildings. I was apparently distracted by something, and I didn’t notice until I was outside that I’d forgotten to put on my shoes.

I said to the others, “I need to go back for my shoes.” One young woman said, “Oh, I never wear my shoes! It’s so much easier that way.” And this other character in my dream said “Yeah, but the bottoms of your feet are all hard and nasty.” The woman replied, “Well, that’s how your feet get if you go barefoot all the time.”

And that’s pretty much all there was to the dream. But when I woke up, I spent a lot of time turning the dream over in my mind.  Something about it “rang true”. Maybe it’s because this was around the time I was wrestling with “finding the right fit“.

The most noteworthy feature of the dream was that this woman and I had different views about the desirability of going barefoot on a regular basis, and the “hardening” that came with it. But unlike the guy who said her feet were “nasty”, I wasn’t making any sort of judgment. It was more like, “This is how you are, and this is how I am, and there are consequences to both ways of being.

Because this woman went without shoes all the time, her feet had adapted to that. She had a certain freedom I didn’t have. I had to be more careful. I could choose to experience the openness and vulnerability of having my shoes off in certain settings that I knew were safe, but I had to be alert enough to recognize when I was leaving such a setting, and equip myself accordingly. In some environments sandals would offer me enough protection, while others might call for thick-soled boots with warm fleece linings.

So, if she had more freedom, what was up side for me? I don’t think it had to do with keeping my feet soft and pretty. I think it was more about safeguarding my sensitivity–to my environment, my experiences, and the people around me. Not allowing myself to become “numb” to everything, but not being so self-protective that I don’t really experience the world, or can’t share my insights when I think they might be helpful.

As I write this, it occurs to me that there is something ironic about seeing sensitivity as a thing to safeguard and value. Because, when I was growing up, I got the message from any number of people that being “sensitive” was not a good thing.   I was always, it seemed, being told, “You’re too sensitive!” or “Don’t be so sensitive!”, or other variations on the same basic theme. And when I heard those words, I felt a sting of rebuke. I wasn’t quite sure what I was meant to do about it, though. Be less sensitive? Not let people know when something upsets me? Find creative ways to avoid situations that are difficult for me?

Once I got older, it would occur to me that the words “You’re too sensitive!” were singularly unhelpful. I mean, no one ever said, “You sunburn too easily!” Instead, they told me that, as someone with blond hair, blue eyes, and pale skin, it was advisable that I use sunscreen. Of course, it would be absurd to rebuke me for my lack of melanin. These days, I consider it every bit as absurd to chastise someone for who s/he is on the inside.