In the land of getting things done

A dream about the future

In my dream, I find Elon Musk to be mildly interested in what I have to say, if not exactly polite. And he is not, in the end, helpful.

It begins in a vast underground subway system. The trains are not part of a city’s infrastructure, or rather, are not part of an organic city, one that has been allowed to grow up with the needs and desires of generations of inhabitants. Everything is new. This newness includes, vaguely, whatever complex this subway system is serving. There is an intimation of a vast busy-ness above, an implied thrum as of hundreds of thousands of bees going about their business. On the trains, though, all is quiet.

The trains, which are immaculate, all bright white and chrome inside, are also, aside from me, entirely devoid of passengers. They move smoothly, swiftly, and silently between stations that are, in turn, like the trains: clean, bright and empty.

I do not know what my business is here, but I have with me my usual bag—a small black backpack that holds my laptop, on which most of my work lives, as well as a notebook, in which I take notes by hand. I am deeply tired. The soft rush of movement underneath and around me, transporting me someplace that apparently I want to be, or need to be, or have been informed I should be, is taking me someplace, but the trip does not seem to end. There is no harshness to the surroundings. No screeching of brakes or flickering of fluorescent lights; no loud protestations from the angry or the insane, nor piles or puddles of human exudate that one must navigate around.

I am lulled to sleep, then wake suddenly, confused, the realization coming down—I fell asleep in public, what was revealed? Did I drool, lose track of my things, slump onto a stranger? What if I had drooled, though? In a public space devoid of other people, what would it matter?

The train stops at yet another bland immaculate station, just like all the rest, and I step out. I must transfer here, and the appropriate platform somehow requires no navigation to get to at all. There is another comfortable and clean bench on which to sit and wait, which I do. My backpack is next to me, my mood is even, my expectations nil. This is not a land of hopes or dreams, but of getting things done. I do not know what task I am on, but presumably, I am a member of the group of people who gets things done.