Daydreams and Nightmares by Nannette Croce

"When one of your dreams come true, you begin to look at the others more carefully."
-Anon.

Lately I’m experiencing the convergence of dream types––the day kind and the night (mare) kind. In a few weeks I’m attending a writing workshop where, for one week, I will live the college life for the first time in 33 years.

In the day I dream of the workshop leader meeting me over coffee to (privately) praise my work. Casually mentioning she knows the editor of the New Yorker and, by the way, will judge the Best Story in the World competition this year––wink, wink.

At night I dream of being stranded, naked, in a dorm bathroom, forced to walk down the hall to my room––all my jiggling flesh exposed. Or sprouting a full beard because I have no light or mirror to pluck my chin hairs.

This is not really about the physical. I am not so vain I can’t spend one week not looking my best with people I don’t know. It’s really the opposite, that dressing professionally and talking myself up won’t do it this time. I have to produce.

By day I’ve dreamed of attending this workshop since I passed it up four years ago to attend my daughter’s graduation. It’s not Bread Loaf, but they don’t accept everyone. In my night dreams I worry. Am I really still good enough? The story I submitted was an old one. Am I too old? Can I handle the rigors? Can I produce in short periods of time with others around?

I guess I’ll have to see, but I know one thing. My worst nightmare is a life with no more challenges. Deep down, it’s challenges like this that keep me feeling vibrant and alive and dreaming.

Envy by Nannette Croce

Yes, I feel envy sometimes. There’s the “useful” envy that I’m not ashamed to admit. As when a new writer makes it into the New Yorker the first time out. That envy leads me to analyze the author’s writing and work at improving my own. Then there’s the “shallow” envy I hate to admit. What I feel about the woman at the gym, five years my senior, who doesn’t look good for her age. She looks good for any age with her tight figure and high cheek bones.

Truthfully, envy may be too strong a word, because, unlike when I was a teenager, I wouldn’t switch places with anyone anymore, not even a movie star or supermodel. With age I’ve learned that every life has its drawbacks.

In our teens it’s hard to sympathize with someone who needs to look absolutely perfect at all times. Most teens spend too much time trying to achieve perfection anyway. Why waste sympathy on someone who’s 90% there when she wakes up in the morning.

Envy is like a photograph. Everyone’s life looks better from afar than it does close up.

Now I see how women living in the tabloid spotlight are required to maintain tank-top figures even during pregnancy. And we've certainly learned that being a prince or princess or queen hardly gives one a pass on misery. Bill Gates worries about Steve Jobs and Steve Jobs worries about Bill Gates.

If only life were like that old McDonald's commercial––"have it your way." I'll have the high cheek bones but hold the philandering husband and obnoxious kid. It's not. Now when I feel the nibble of envy I think of all the wonderful things I have that the other person may not.