Passport Optional

I’m pretty sure the origin of my dream last night had to do with the meal I got at Bahama Breeze. It came with naan bread (which we’d never heard of) that turned out to be (in the words of the old Taco Bell commercial…) warm, pillowy flat bread. Someone thought it was African in origin. Despite the fact that I now know it isn’t, this is what led to my dream.

Tropical Curry Shrimp from Bahama Breeze



I somehow joined with a humanitarian group that went to an African village to help out. I only saw females in the village and didn’t see anyone from the humanitarian group once we got there. I, and the village women, all pitched in to take the dirty well water through a cleansing process that resulted in pure drinking water.

I met some amazing people and got to know them as we all worked. They showed me their simple lifestyles without the least bit of curiosity for mine. (Indeed, I didn’t have comparison moments; I just learned their ways as if they would be my own.)

The biggest thing I remember from this part was how loved and accepted I was. I truly felt like a valuable part of this community.

After that, I was playing with a bunch of the kids on a warm, sunny afternoon—the kind with puffy clouds and a deep blue sky. Someone asked how long I’d been there (the implication being it was time for me to go home). I couldn’t remember. Had it been only a day? A week?

I couldn’t remember sleeping there or doing anything besides helping with the water and enjoying getting to know everyone. I knew it had been one of those life-changing experiences most international travelers have. I would return to my home with a deeper appreciation of LIFE and people in general. I’d been transformed—renewed and refreshed.

Then I realized I had nothing but the clothes on my back. I didn’t know how I’d gotten there, but flying back would require a passport, and mine had expired 3 years ago (funny how real life truths intrude in dreams).

This would leave me in limbo while our slow-as-sludge government worked to sort things out. I started freaking.
Somehow I ended up at our airport and thought, “Well, my house is nearby, so I’ll just hop over there and at least gather the paperwork I need.” My husband and father were there, not the least bit concerned with what I’d have to go through. I told my husband to print out the applications while I got my ID paperwork together.

Somewhere in the middle of running around like a headless chicken, it dawned on me that I was already home, that I didn’t have to go back to the airport and “check in”. The government wouldn’t actually look at the security footage to see if I came through or not. They didn’t have to know.

So, problem solved, I decided to wake up.

My frustration upon waking was having lost the great feelings I’d had in the middle part of the dream. I know there was more to the story—reasons and lessons to my interaction with the women. I feel like I visited dear friends, but forgot what was said. How sad.

If I were superstitious, I might think this a sign to get our passports renewed. Maybe I will anyway. At the very least, I’m going to enjoy my curry shrimp and naan leftovers. 😉


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