Another anxiety dream. No purpose in putting it here but why not?

I was with Jess (Cert colleague) trying to cross a long bridge over probably the San Francisco Bay, first by car and then on foot. Accidents and construction areas abounded, as we (and a million other cars), going way too fast, swerved at the last minute to avoid them, almost causing a new accident in the process. At some point we ditched the car and started running, along with thousands of others who were either pedestrian commuters (dressed in business garb and jogging to work) and fitness people, jogging as part of their daily health regimen. Jess and I were neither.

I told Jess about Jean Ritchie and how important she was and how much I liked her. We passed a sign that said she was giving a concert two days hence. “That can’t be,” I said. “She just had a major stroke.” We ran up the long incline of the bridge span. It was grey and dark. We passed a group of people huddled around another person: Jean Ritchie. “Jean!” I yelled. “It is SO good to see you. You don’t know how much I like you.” “Ginna!” she cried. “What a treat to see you again.” I was amazed and flattered that she remembered me. The crowd pushed me on so that all I could do was turn and wave. Every now and then we’d pass each other as we crossed, but never long enough so that we could talk. On the descending span of the bridge, the roadbed, like ice over a creek, dissolved in parts, so that we had to leap across open water far below. I was a really good runner. I had no idea I could run —  not only was I fit (to my surprise), but  my stamina was exceptional. Running was easy. It was the terrain and the circumstances that were hard: too many people, obstacles in the road, hazards in the environment that could lead to death if I didn’t negotiate everything properly: keeping up with the fast pace of others in a difficult setting even for walking.

With anxiety, but without stopping, I made it to the shore. The closer to shore I became, the greater the leaps I had to make because the more the bridge had deteriorated. As I’d run toward another gap of water, I couldn’t slow down; at each, I thought “I can leap across this chasm because I have to.” And I did.

How can I twist this dream into an interpretation that fits my teaching context, to justify its being on my blog? Maybe I can tie it to my previous entry about self-doubt in the classroom. That the running was easy, even though I was neither an athlete or fit (experience and preparation) and that I could keep up with the pace of the others: maybe that’s how it will feel. That certain things will seem easy — my capacity — but the terrain will feel unfamiliar: dark, fraught with potential traps. And maybe that will be as much in my head as real. I mean, obviously I’m not going to die from teaching (I don’t think so, anyway) but there are pits I could stumble into.

Wisdom imposed upon this hapless dream: I have innate ability to do this teaching thing. I don’t know the tricks, but navigating is to some extent is intuitive. But it requires quick reflexes. This, along with the pace of teaching (keeping the class flowing at the right speed), are the things that scare me and will be a challenge. It will be up to me to figure out what is the pace the students need and want to be running at.