15 feb 2011 •
leestijd 1 minuten
I have a recurring dream that I've been drafted to play on an NHL team. This is a very upsetting dream because I can't really play hockey. I mean, I play pretty much how you'd expect a thirty-ish dying-of-cancer Dutch guy to play.
The words clumsy, hesitant, clueless, short and frightened come to mind. During the dream I'm well aware of my grotesque lack of talent. I skate up and down the ice hoping the puck doesn't come my way, all the while wondering why the coach doesn't take me out. Even me executing a one on one breakaway or a penaltyshot seems like an impossible, or at least unlikely, event. Assuming dreams work as metaphor and I'm not really subconsciously afraid of having to go mano a mano with Sidney or Ovi, the question I find myself asking is, what in my life do I feel fully engaged in and yet completely unqualified for? The answer is simple: journalism. Once again, the words clumsy, hesitant, clueless, short and frightened come to mind. Well, not short... average.