The strangest part of my dream wasn’t the roller coaster.
It wasn’t the bears.
It wasn’t even the sea.
It was the fact that we were all waiting for a doctor.
A doctor who never arrived.
Instead of meeting the doctor, we were sent on a roller coaster.
The more I think about it, the more it feels like a metaphor for adulthood.
We spend so much of life waiting for someone to arrive with answers.
A mentor.
A therapist.
A partner.
A boss.
A book.
A spiritual teacher.
Someone who will finally explain everything.
Someone who will tell us what to do next.
Someone who will make uncertainty disappear.
And then life does something deeply inconvenient.
It doesn’t give us answers.
It gives us experiences.
It throws us onto roller coasters.
It sends us through heartbreak.
Friendships.
Failures.
Unexpected journeys.
Embarrassing mistakes.
Moments of joy we couldn’t have planned.
The wisdom we seek rarely arrives through instruction.
It arrives through participation.
The doctor never came in my dream.
Maybe because there was nothing left to diagnose.
Maybe the ride itself was the treatment.
