The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, and this epic blog began with a dream about yoghurt.
It was set at my maternal grandmother’s home, in a part of the bungalow known as the… well, did anyone else’s grandma have a Back Passage? (I know, right? So far as I could tell she never, in all her eighty six years, figured out why people were sniggering.)
There was a small fridge in there – barely bigger than the portable ones you might take camping – and I was trying to get a jumbo tub of Natural Greek-Style to fit on the bottom shelf, but no amount of manoeuvring could get the fridge door to close. I had to leave the tub of yoghurt on the floor directly next to the fridge, but I wasn’t at all happy with this compromise.
Upon waking, I was so delighted with this dream that I told pretty much everyone I came into contact with for the next few days, and it was at this point that one of my housemates suggested I start a blog.
Another dream-interpretation site tells me that “to see or eat yogurt in your dream, suggests that you need to learn to behave appropriately for the different situations and circumstances you find yourself in.” Others suggest an improvement in health and finances; an attempt to live healthily; or an immature way of seeking spiritual nourishment. (It seems dream dictionaries are kind of reluctant about reaching a common consensus.)
To put this dream in its mundane context, another member of my household recently did have a giant quantity of natural strained, extra-thick, Greek yoghurt in a blue and white pot so large it actually had a handle.
The less obvious background to the dream was that I’d recently started having group therapy through the NHS. I’d wanted one-to-one sessions and to share my therapy time with seven other people felt like an enormous compromise. I was a newcomer to an existing group, which struck me as being pretty set in its ways, and I’d waited a long time for therapy, during which there were a lot of reasons I could have done with the support. A long-term relationship had ended and I’d moved house; work was stressful and disatisfying; a relative had died unexpectedly, so on and so forth, on top of longer term issues that I had hoped to address.
I felt there was so much in me that it was impossible – impossible – to store it. It simply couldn’t fit into its constraints. It was no good me putting my emotional yoghurt (if you will) to one side, because the longer it was left, the more rancid it would turn.
As for the setting, I often find my dream-self back at my parents’ house, or my grandma’s, despite her having vacated it over ten years ago.
Whether my subconscious was trying to say something witty about the back passage, I’ll have to keep pondering.
…no, on second thoughts I don’t want to know.