Excerpt from A Movie Lover's Search for Romance (Charnas): Dreamland Encouragement

Dreamland Encouragement

Last night’s dream has stayed with me since I woke up. It has hovered in my consciousness throughout the day, first at synagogue, where I intended to focus on loftier matters, then at lunch with friends when it kept popping into my head at odd moments, then at the video and drugstores where it seemed to affect my ability to make correct change, and finally sitting on my couch during the evening, trying unsuccessfully to distract myself with a movie.

The dream lingers, and I’m wondering what it’s supposed to mean. The dream started at a wedding—my wedding. Guests lined up outside a modest wedding chapel waiting to enter. Most of them were dressed in t-shirts and casual weekend clothes, as if they were about to rake leaves instead of witness the beginning of a marriage. If anyone ever showed up at a wedding of mine dressed like that, I’d probably nurse my indignation and resentment well past a ten-year anniversary. So, I knew immediately that the dream was out of synch with everyday reality and seemed to be about some laid-back version of my high-strung self.

The dream segued into a small room inside the chapel used by the bridal party to prepare for nuptials. I could sense my betrothed, but I couldn’t see him. Two or three chapel employees were also in the room. My wedding dress had been folded in two and slung over the top of a dresser. Seeing the dress, I thought, “This is going to be a no-fuss affair.” In my waking life, I assume that my second wedding, the one I envision in my head from time to time, won’t be a formal shindig like the first one. But I’d never sling a wedding dress anywhere. After noticing the dress, I asked the chapel staff to give the groom and me a moment alone.

At that moment, the scene shifted, and my fiancé and I were curled up together on a bed, which hadn’t been in the room before. The object of my affection had blond hair, fresh-butter blond, the type you usually don’t see on grown men. I’m not particularly attracted to blonds, but he had warm features and would be considered attractive by any reasonable standard. My fiancé lay on his back with me draped over and facing him. I noticed that his hand hung off the bed and held a cigarette. Surprised, I calmly commented, “Oh, you’re a smoker,” clearly noticing this for the first time. I teased, “Do you know how many first dates I’ve refused because the guy smoked?” It was a rhetorical question, and the smoking wasn’t a deal breaker.

With my first marriage, or more accurately, my non-dreamland marriage, after making our vows, I discovered that my husband, Harry, smoked one cigarette a day. We’d dated for four years before marrying, and I’d never seen him smoke a cigarette in all that time. I was deeply upset by this revelation even though it was only one cigarette. So, it seemed I had gone from real-world distress  to dream-world equanimity about the smoking issue.

Next in the dream, my fiancé, in the same loving tones with which we’d discussed his smoking, told me he was gay. We were cuddling in this moment, not fighting. But nothing seemed to change our intention to get married. I replied, “You know what this means? No more men for you.” My fiancé calmly accepted my ultimatum. Just as with the smoking, there was no debate. We were who we were, and we were about to get married. My waking life is never this simple and easy.

The end of my dream reminded me of one of the final scenes in The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. At the conclusion of the film, Kate Winslet lists all of her faults to Jim Carey, with whom she’s had a tumultuous romance. He listens and then firmly and calmly accepts her. I love this movie.

Despite the unexpected issues, my dream conveyed, more than anything else, a great closeness between us. My fiancé was going to give up men, and I was going to live with his smoking. The mood of the dream was so piercingly intimate that it woke me. Now I can’t get it off my mind or figure out what I’m supposed to learn from it.

 I would never become involved with a gay smoker. Either issue would be out of the question. Although I’ve heard of women who have made this choice, intentionally marrying a gay man would be a surefire recipe for untold complications and heartache for me, and the smoking would drive me crazy. Yet the most striking part of the dream wasn’t the smoking or homosexuality, but rather how unimportant these matters were in the presence of the warmth and love. After the dream haunted me all day, the only conclusion I could draw was that I need to be more open to love, even if it comes in unexpected forms.

But how much more open? If they gave out awards for diversity in dating, I’d win it this year. I became involved with someone who believed he was a Buddhist priest, and who also dressed like one. I’ve gone out with an orthodox Jew and with men of three different ethnicities—Black, Caucasian, and Middle Eastern. In addition, I had one date with someone who had a severe birth defect, which I knew about before I met him. One of my dates would have been an excellent candidate for gastric bypass surgery (I also knew he was fat before we went out), and two of the guys were so short, I would have hovered over them in heels, like every woman Tom Cruise has ever been photographed with. One of the men I dated had a PhD, at least two had master’s degrees, and one had never attended college. I’m not sure how much wider to cast my dating net, short of trolling in bars or hiking up my skirts on street corners.

If I weren’t a Jew and instead worshipped the Greek gods, I’d shake my fist at Hypnos, the god of sleep, and yell, “What more do you want from me? Do you really want me to date gay chain smokers?” Even by my ridiculously broad standards, that’s asking too much. Or maybe I’ve got it all wrong.

Maybe instead of providing redirection, the dream is a message of encouragement. Perhaps it’s implying that I don’t know where I’ll find love; it might come from an unexpected quarter. It might be outside the box, something I couldn’t predict. Possibly the dream isn’t telling me to change my behavior at all. Maybe it’s urging me to relax, to keep the faith, and is letting me know, “Look, this is going to happen, just not the way you think it will.” Now there’s a message I could embrace. I only hope it's true.




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Verdict from Library Journal review:
“An encouraging read for the 40-plus single woman who is thrown into the dating world and is trying to mesh real life with that depicted in the movies.” — Deborah Bigelow


Other books by Joanna:



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