Returns

Every spring I have a variation of the same dream. In the dream, the location changes, but the plot is always similar. I'm usually at my parent's house, sometimes at college, sometimes at my current apartment. The sky is gray, or green, and the wind whips the trees into a tangle of bouncing limbs. A rumble starts in the distance, and I go to the window, where I see a tornado, sometimes far away, sometimes imminent, but always scary. I try to hide somewhere, pulling blankets over my head or burrowing under a table. Before the tornado hits, I wake up.

Isn't it strange how our brains return to the same old things? I sometimes feel like I'm stuck in a cycle of repetition, destined to repeat past mistakes and entertain dusty ideas. The same thoughts keep cropping up, like weeds that struggle to the surface even after a liberal dousing with Roundup. A few of the most persistent include the wish for bigger breasts, the need for more motivation, curiosity about whether or not I would look good with short hair, the desire to work harder, be less lazy, and the thought that no matter how hard I try I will never be as likable as I want to be.

Rip them out, replace them with roses of good thoughts, repeat. That is the cycle. I think the good thoughts return again and again too, but we don't remember them as well. Thoughts like, I'm beautiful, loved, intelligent and friendly. It's important to replay the nice thoughts. My favorites include getting my masters' degree in the mail, getting off the plane at Heathrow airport on my first trip abroad, and the feeling in tummy the first time my boyfriend told me he loved me. So even if tornadoes return every year, my happy thoughts will ensure I'm not blown away.