The dream that stayed with me for over 20 years
If you search for dream interpretation, chances are you’ll quickly stumble upon the infamous “teeth falling out” symbol. According to Google, that’s one of the most common dream scenarios — up there with flying, being chased, or suddenly realising you’re naked in public.
But I’ve never dreamed about my teeth falling out.
Instead, I had a dream that involved a van, a crash, and a feeling I couldn’t shake. No explosions. No fire. Just a creeping sense of inevitability and stillness. I never properly interpreted that dream in the usual sense — I didn’t look up symbols or meanings. But it stuck with me. And years later, it became the foundation for my novel Dreams Don’t Always End.
Why do some dreams linger while others vanish?
Most dreams slip away the moment we wake. They disappear with the steam of the kettle or fade by the time we’ve had our first sip of coffee. But once in a while, a dream embeds itself deeper. Not because we understand it, but because of how it makes us feel.
The dream that inspired my book took place on the M4 motorway. A van moved too fast. Everything slowed down. Time bent. I wasn’t afraid, just strangely detached — as though I was watching the event unfold from a step outside myself. There was no collision, no sound. Just light and motion and an overwhelming sense that something important was happening just beneath the surface.
That dream has lived in the back of my mind for over two decades. Not because I know what it meant, but because I never stopped feeling it.
I never interpreted it — but it changed me
People often turn to dream dictionaries or online forums to decipher their subconscious. Maybe they’re looking for reassurance. Maybe they’re hoping for a warning. Maybe they just want to feel like something bigger is at work behind the chaos of sleep.
I never searched for the meaning of my van crash dream. Not at the time. But recently, while writing this post, I checked. The internet offers a buffet of possible meanings: loss of control, emotional disruption, repressed anger, fear of change. None of them felt quite right.
And that’s the thing. Dream interpretation can be fascinating, but it often relies on applying fixed symbols to deeply personal experiences. What if your dream doesn’t fit the mould? What if it’s not meant to be interpreted in that way?
In my case, the dream didn’t give me answers. It gave me a story.
The dream behind Dreams Don’t Always End
I didn’t set out to write a novel about a dream. But as I began shaping the story, I kept returning to the atmosphere of that night — the feeling of the van, the slowed-down moment, the emotional disconnection.
The novel doesn’t literally retell the dream, but the mood it evokes is everywhere. In the distorted timelines, the liminal spaces, the feeling of being slightly out of sync with reality. There’s a corridor that stretches endlessly. A waiting room that doesn’t belong in any real world. And a sense that something is happening just behind the surface of consciousness.
Writing the book became a way of processing that dream — not intellectually, but emotionally. I didn’t interpret it so much as translate it into fiction.
Why people are obsessed with dream interpretation
There’s a reason dream interpretation is such a popular search phrase. We want our dreams to mean something. We want signs, clues, hidden meanings. Whether we believe in symbolism or not, we’re drawn to the idea that dreams can reveal truths about ourselves.
Some interpretations are helpful, even comforting. Others feel more like guesswork. But every once in a while, we experience a dream so vivid, so emotionally charged, that we don’t need a dictionary to know it matters.
That’s how it was for me. I didn’t understand the dream — I still don’t. But it sparked something that became a book. And in that sense, maybe it didn’t need to be interpreted. It just needed to be used.
No teeth. No clear message. But something changed.
I often joke that while millions of people are dreaming about their teeth falling out, I’m over here haunted by a van that never actually crashed. But I think that’s part of the point.
The dream changed me. Not dramatically. Not overnight. But subtly, like a gear shifting quietly in the background. It led me to ask questions about time, memory, and the versions of ourselves we leave behind. Questions I explored, unconsciously at first, by writing Dreams Don’t Always End.
I didn’t decode the dream. I followed it.
Have you ever had a dream you couldn’t shake?
Not all dreams are worth interpreting. But some are worth remembering. Some become part of your story, even if you never quite figure out what they were trying to tell you.
If you’ve ever had a dream that stayed with you — for hours, days, or decades — I’d love to hear about it.
And if you’re curious how a single dream can evolve into an entire novel, you can learn more about Dreams Don’t Always End using the links below.
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