There’s an argument that these nightmares are useful. They are provided by our subconscious as a way of sharpening our psyche for the year ahead. They are the mind’s way of marking the transition between a lazy summer and the tougher requirements of employment.
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That’s one theory, but here’s a more likely one. Over the past few decades, we’ve been busy creating a world in which the human tendency to anxiety has been amplified in a million ways.
It’s been amplified by parents who complain weekly to the school principal about their child’s teacher; by a hospital system so stressed that nurses and doctors fear they’ll make a mistake with a patient; and by social media sites that leave every cafe owner, mechanic or builder in daily fear that a single unhappy customer might try to destroy their business.
And so we sleep, or we try to, as the builder imagines they’ve forgotten to install the damp course; as the barrister addresses the judge while realising they have no knowledge of the case; and as the actor walks on stage – having forgotten to learn the script and to wear some clothing.
No wonder we all look a bit tired. We’re working harder during the night than we need to work during the day.
Perhaps, for those of a certain age, retirement offers freedom from this anxious dreaming? Alas, according to my research, there is no escape. Those who gave up nursing or teaching or lawyering 10 or 20 years ago, still wake up in a sweat.
An Olympian, retired from the scene for two decades, tells me of performing in a sport that had weight restrictions. All these years on, in his fevered dreams, he still occasionally must mount the scales, only to be found wanting. Ah, the shame.
Evolution has burdened humans with a high level of anxiety. The calmer early humans, lacking the genes for instant flight or fight, fell easily to their predators. It was the anxious ones, those who saw a lion in every shadow, who earned the chance to hand on their DNA.
The lions, for most of us, have now disappeared. Yet here’s the mystery: why have we worked hard to replace them with threats of our own making?
We are left hoping for February, when the anxiety dreams will abate. We’ll realise we can do our job after all, or at least fool the world that we can. The ropes of the plough will not bite into the flesh quite as fiercely once the calluses of work have returned.
In the meantime, how about a kinder, more supportive world as opposed to a world that, by our own collective design, becomes meaner, more threatening, more judgmental with each passing year?
Here’s a resolution for the year ahead: be nice!
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