I have had this recurring dream. I have had it since I was in eighth grade. In the dream, I pack up all of my important possessions, including whatever cat or cats I have at the time, into whatever car I have at the time, and I drive to Wisconsin.
I haven’t the foggiest notion why I take off for Wisconsin. I’ve never been to Wisconsin. At the time I first had the dream, I didn’t even know anybody from Wisconsin. One of my eighth-grade classmates eventually went to the University of Wisconsin, but his family was originally from Texas, so that doesn’t make sense either.
Adding to the frustration of this dream is that I never actually get to Wisconsin. I usually wake up sometime about when I get to Omaha.
I don’t even know a whole lot about Wisconsin, aside from there’s a lot of good football that goes on there, especially at Lambeau Field, and there are a lot of cows that produce milk to make a lot of cheese. So why, from the time I was 13, has Wisconsin been this unattainable Holy Grail of my dreams?
Perhaps it was originally a desire for the different. Perhaps, to my eighth-grade mind, nothing could be more different from New Mexico – lush and green, rather than arid and more-or-less brown. But why, then, would the dream recur even when I was in green places, like England and Houston?
Or is there something in Wisconsin, calling me? Will my life never be complete until I have actually, physically, set foot in Wisconsin?