You ever wonder what dreams really are? Some people say they’re just the clutter of the day, your brain trying to clean house while you sleep. Science tells us that biologically, dreams are the brain’s way of processing and consolidating information—sifting through memories, ironing out emotions, even rehearsing possible futures. Freud called them the royal road to the unconscious, the place where our hidden wishes slip past the guard. Jung thought they were bridges to something bigger, connecting us to the symbols and archetypes we all share. And then there’s the practical view—that dreams are nothing more than random sparks, static dressed up as a story. Like your computer running updates in the background while the screen saver makes it look pretty.
But here’s the thing. For me, dreams are more than that. They’re where the soul takes flight, where fantasy brushes right up against reality. It’s the place where love, hate, frustration, and fear mingle in ways the daylight can’t quite manage. For a while, just for a while, you get to live all of it.
When I was younger, I dreamed I could fly. No metaphor—really fly. I could see my town from above, rooftops sharp against the trees, streets stretching out like veins on a hand. And here’s the curious part: years later, when drones and Google Maps showed us the bird’s-eye view of everything, I realized how accurate my dreams had been. The roofs, the streets, the trees—it was all there. Was that my brain doing some clever reconstruction? Or was it something deeper? I can’t say. But I remember the joy of it, the pure exhilaration, like Superman cutting through clouds. It was great fun.
After college, though, those flying dreams disappeared. They turned into falling—falling from windows, rooftops, trees, walls. Falling in every way the mind could imagine. And that made sense. Fresh out of school, I learned quickly that diplomas don’t hand you opportunity. The job market wanted “experience.” But how do you build a pool of experienced people without first giving someone a chance? It works itself out, somehow. Still, in those days, I felt like I was always falling, never finding ground.
During the darkest stretch of my depression, I stopped dreaming altogether. And I missed it. The silence at night felt like another loss. But maybe it was mercy. Maybe my soul decided I needed rest more than visions. If I had dreamed of flying then, it would’ve been cruel, a reminder of a joy I couldn’t touch. In a strange way, I’m thankful I didn’t.
And yes, there are other dreams too—the adult-themed ones, the blush-worthy encounters. I won’t paint those pictures here, but they raise the same question. Biology? Or something more?
As life moved on, I started handling bigger projects at work, managing budgets with more zeroes than I’d ever seen before. Stress came along for the ride. My old companion stage fright never left me, and now I was presenting to rooms full of workers, executives, strangers. Every time I had to speak, I felt sick with dread. And my dreams reflected that fear. I’d find myself naked—locked out of my room, walking down the street, riding a bus, always stripped of everything. Nothing but vulnerability. Every time I woke, I felt relief it wasn’t real, but unease lingered all the same.
These days, my dreams are softer. Random, yes, but tender too. I dream of loved ones who’ve passed on—especially my grandmother. In those dreams, we talk, we laugh, and for those brief nights she’s alive again. I wake with her voice still warm in my ear, and I miss her all the more. I dream of my girlfriend too. She’s in Texas, I’m in Virginia. The distance is tough, but in dreams, we’re together. In those quiet hours, we close the gap that miles try to keep between us.
So what are dreams? Science has its answers. Psychology has its theories. But for me, dreams are the soul’s excursions. They’re visits, rehearsals, reunions. They’re flights into joy, plunges into fear, moments of naked truth. They’re reminders of the people we love, the places we miss, the selves we’re still trying to become.
For a while. Just for a while.
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A Kings 
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