The dream began with a simple objective.

We were waiting for a doctor.

That’s all.

Somewhere in Thailand. Somewhere in an amusement park. Somewhere that made perfect sense while I was asleep.

We were waiting for a doctor.

Then somehow the queue became a roller coaster.

The roller coaster became a boat.

The boat became a rescue mission.

The rescue mission became an encounter with bears.

And the doctor never appeared.

When I woke up, I realized how familiar that felt.

For most of my life, I have been waiting for some version of a doctor.

Not a medical doctor.

An answer doctor.

A certainty doctor.

A wisdom doctor.

Someone who would arrive and explain things.

Tell me whether I was making the right decision.

Tell me whether things would work out.

Tell me whether I was worrying unnecessarily.

Tell me what came next.

But adulthood has a cruel and fascinating habit.

The doctor rarely comes.

Instead, life keeps handing us experiences.

You don’t receive a lecture about resilience.

You get your heart broken.

You don’t attend a seminar on courage.

You face something frightening.

You don’t get instructions on letting go.

Someone leaves.

And somehow, through surviving the thing itself, you learn what no expert could have taught you.

I spent years believing wisdom arrived through answers.

Now I suspect it arrives through participation.

Perhaps that’s why the doctor never showed up in my dream.

Maybe there was nothing left to explain.

Maybe the ride itself was the lesson.

Maybe the roller coaster was the appointment.