Lucid Dreams and the Danger You're In

A strategy for dealing with stress

Think about the last crisis you faced. It probably hit you when you weren’t looking. It rolled over you like a tsunami, with just a few minutes of empty beach to give you the idea that you’d better brace yourself. Then it washed over you and it was all you could do to keep standing up.

What was the hardest thing to do in that situation?

Keep calm? Figure out a strategy? Not cry?

You don’t have to be in a crisis to feel like you’re in one. Just giving a speech can put you into crisis mode. As the moment approaches, your heart starts beating fast, your mouth gets dry, you want to run away.

I’ve got a notion for you that might help you navigate that feeling.

Last week I had my first lucid dream, and it taught me a valuable lesson. A lucid dream, by the way, is where you realize you are dreaming and begin to take control of the dream. My whole life I’ve wanted to have one.

In the past, when I realized I was dreaming I’d either wake up, or my attempts to do what I wanted in the dream would be leaden. My arms wouldn’t work well. And if I tried to fly, I’d just sort of sink to the ground.

This time it was different.

I realized I was dreaming, and I stayed in the dream. Then I told myself it was time to fly.

Suddenly I found myself on the balcony of a high-rise, some 30 stories up, a huge expanse of water below me. My sons were there, and I asked them if I should jump, but they didn’t have an answer for me. The whole thing still felt real, and I just wasn’t sure I was dreaming.

I decided to jump.

Falling from that 30 stories felt very real. My stomach left me. There were seconds where I wondered if I’d made the right decision as the water hurtled towards me.

And then, before I hit, I slowed, and I smiled. Because I realized I’d made the right choice.

I started to fly, really fly, sailing over the water like a skimmer. I moved forward and the lake became a river which I followed. When I imagined how great it would be to fly over a waterfall, the waterfall appeared and, joyful, I went over it, safe as houses.

At that point, I was actually determining the events in my dream.

One powerful means of dream interpretation is to see the dream as an allegory, where every aspect of the dream relates to you. In this case, I had a choice to make: to take a risk that the peril I imagined was in front of me was illusory. I was right, and I was rewarded.

The lesson from the dream is that it’s very important to know the difference between real risk and imagined risk, real peril and imagined peril. If you can tell them apart, you can fly, and even control your life.

So when you’re in front of that crowd, waiting to speak, ask yourself: What peril is real, and what peril is imaginary?

Are they going to laugh at me if I make a mistake? Really? Are they going to hurl tomatoes? Will I lose my job?

Probably not.

Will I be embarrassed if I mess up? Will that feel just awful?

Sure.

The first set of perceived dangers is largely imaginary. Those perils can, must, be disregarded. Jump off the bridge.