This morning I woke up and recalled the dream I had. I was in a foreign land. The runway met the city without any barriers. I walked out of the plane and into the (clean) streets. I stayed in a house from where I could see the square which had a large fountain in the middle. People were walking about. I kept thinking I was here for a reason but none came to me. I wasn’t on a vacation nor was I there for work. I looked out of the window onto the square and then, I woke up.

We were talking about timelines in an early morning virtual meeting today. Nothing extraordinary – another day in hundreds of those when we’re bound by capitalism and the facade of meaning that it provides – but something came up which shook me a little. With absolute certainty we discussed what the next weeks looked like, how bad were they going to be, and exactly what was about to hit us. This calm and acceptance of the future scared me a bit and I didn’t almost read on my way to the workplace. I didn’t want to sit in a virtual circle and know how things were due to go South. And I’m not talking about the workplace anymore. (There has to be a metaphor, come on you know it.) I don’t want the future to be a scary place where I’m going to have to crawl through the mud and drink water with a fork. For once I want it to be something else that I have not imagined or calculated. I want it to show me that it is made of glorious stuff. I want it to be something outside of us and independent of our shortcomings. I want it to tower over us and show us how it’s done.

For once I want the future to be a place where the runway meets the city which meets a house. And I want to look outside the window and see that it wasn’t just a dream.