When Time Stood Still

A Journey Through Time, Memory, and Meaning

I rarely dream.

But when I do, they are extraordinarily vivid and real.

About a year ago, I had one of those dreams. I was standing among several of my high school friends, each of them exactly as I remembered—young, dressed in their ’90s clothing. The odd thing was that I wasn’t their age. I was my current age. While they were still in high school, I stood among them as a 50-year-old man.

Suddenly, the scene changed, and I was with family. I was still my current age, but older family members appeared as their younger selves. Instead of being in their 70s, they were in their 30s. My kids, at their present ages, were there too. Even our dog Aberdeen, who passed away in 2017, was right beside me.

That alone was enough to make me emotional. But then, the scene shifted once more.

Jenny and I were sitting on the bed of our first apartment together. She was in her early 20s—radiant and beautiful—but she was pointing out signs of aging. At one point, she said, “Look at my legs,” noting how her first pregnancy had already taken a toll on her body. I looked at her, seeing only her beauty, tears running down my cheeks. Still my 50-year-old self, I said, “You are perfect and beautiful just as you are. Look at me. I am so old now.”

The dream ended, and I woke to find my pillow wet with real tears.

Crazy.

Who really knows what dreams mean—what they are trying to teach us or reveal about ourselves? Maybe there’s something hopeful in the idea of a time and place where time itself is fleeting and transient, where we are all together as our best and happiest selves. Maybe those who are old will be young again. Maybe the pets we’ve lost will be with us once more.

That dream left me deeply hopeful for what could be. But even more than that, it made me think about my time with Jenny in our first apartment—how easily we can miss the power of the moment by focusing on things that don’t ultimately matter. How much have we lost—friendships, early years with family, new experiences—by fixating on the trivial and meaningless? And how much would we gain in the present if we saw things, and ourselves, as they truly are—full of beauty and love—rather than through the lens of insecurity, regret, or distraction?

Every stage of life holds something precious. Don’t miss it.

Question

1. What moments in my life am I overlooking or failing to fully appreciate because I am too focused on imperfections, regrets, or distractions?

Peace,

Brandon

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