Making All Stressful Stops

I was dissolving in the tunnels beneath the Big Apple. A real New York nightmare.

Illustration by Andra Emilia Fenton

I am particularly prone to vivid stress dreams, even when my life is relatively stress-free. It seems my body’s natural resting position is stress. But this one stands out as the worst my unconscious mind has yet concocted, and I think it’s no coincidence it took place in a subway station.

In the dream, I found myself in front of a turnstile, nervously watching the track, and trying to get the system to recognize my Metrocard. I am greatly ashamed when I can’t show my native status by nailing my first swipe, so I emoted with a series of can-you-even-believe-this-I-mean-come-on faces. Of course, there were lots of people waiting to get through. I estimate that there were hundreds, perhaps thousands crammed behind me. I was occupying the only turnstile and I could feel their judgmental, sharpened glares: who is this guy, with his fancy suit (I was urgently rushing to a posh event) and his bad Metrocard skills? I was trying so hard, but in a stress dream…