Missing Tooth

The nightmare that got me off my ass

Georgia Clay

May 07, 2026

I’ve gotten really out of shape.

My work out routine has been completely abandoned.

There’s always something more pressing that demands my attention.

I know it’s important, but essentially, I refuse to exercise.

This has been going on for about 6 months, and it doesn’t take a genius to trace the shift to October of last year when I pulled down a book that had sat unread on my shelf for years: The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron’s epic 12-week program for creative recovery.

The Artist’s Way requires time and discipline—morning pages, artist dates, extensive writing prompts. I had to rearrange my schedule and make some sacrifices, but as promised, something truly magical happened.

My creative practice became a top priority. I poured hours into my work as a writer and photographer, tried new things, discovered a few gems. I reconnected with my artist self in a profound way. This shift has activated my whole being with a prolonged surge of creativity and purpose.

That’s the good news. The bad news: this means hours and hours at my desk.

Sitting is one of the worst things you can do for your physical health. So while I’m flourishing creatively and spiritually, I’ve gotten soft and slouchy.

Balance is a Mirage

The goal isn’t to always feel “balanced” between work, family, friends, exercise, creativity, spirituality, hobbies, and admin.

Priorities shift. We go through bursts of interest and focus. There’s a natural ebb and flow to the pie chart of life—you might give extra attention to one area for a while, then recalibrate.

Maybe you recently started a new relationship, so the paperwork piled up a bit. If you’ve been sick lately, you’re focused on getting healthy and you might not see your friends as much. Say you’re working on a big project this month, the house gets messy.

And that’s ok.

But if any one thing gets neglected for too long, imbalance becomes a problem.

I have been aware of the imbalance in my desk to gym ratio for months. I get by with the physical activity afforded by walking the dog and vigorously vacuuming, but I’ve become really resistant to doing a proper work out.

For those of us with a propensity towards intellectual projects, a writing habit, and a desk job, this is an easy pit to fall into. The question is how to get out.

Reestablishing Routines is Hard

I’m a life coach, so it’s my job to help people establish healthy routines.

I know the strategies.

But for some reason, this one has eluded me.

I tried connecting with my motivation. I tried bribing myself. I talked about it with my therapist, my friends, my husband. I put it in my calendar, on my to do list, in my reminders. I put up motivational sticky notes: Georgia! Work out! Look good! Feel good!

Nothing.

Enter the Dream Author

My tooth has come out. Back molar, tooth number 14. I’m holding it, feeling depressed and dismayed when my ex comes along and I see that he’s missing a tooth as well. He suggests that I put the tooth back in, just kinda shove it up in there. That seems foolish, but I’m desperate, so I take the thing and shove it into the gum.

It immediately disintegrates, and my mouth fills with gritty tooth dust. Blergh! I spit, and chunks of white grainy sand spew from my lips. This isn’t working.

Ok, dream author. I’m listening.

With the help of two beautiful women at my Dream Circle, I sat in the Ojai foothills a couple weeks ago to explore this disturbing and compelling image.

I read the dream aloud, and it didn’t take long to discover a deep fear of aging.

There is a sense of decay, of losing my youth and vitality. It can’t be reversed, the tooth is gone, and this is just the beginning.

Although I am not alone in this—my ex has lost a tooth as well—I am horrified by the fact that I’m literally falling apart.

The desperation and regret that I felt as my tooth crumbled in my mouth was like a slap across the face. I felt it—in my body—the frustration and sadness of my health failing me.

The Deep Wisdom in Dreams

I’ve always been motivated to look and feel good in the present, but I haven’t paid too much attention to how future me will be affected by my choices.

I thought I was getting away with it, but down in my psyche, the alarm bells were going off. My subconscious was trying to get my attention with the visceral urgency of a nightmare. Future me seemed to be reaching through the strands of time with a message:

If you want to be healthy as you age, exercise needs to be a non-negotiable priority.

It’s funny how something so utterly obvious can suddenly come into focus. Something you already “knew.” You read about it, hear about it, talk about it. Then something happens that makes it click.

After Dream Circle, I sat in my car and wrote down these questions:

What scares you about aging? (The idea of being crooked, bent over, sick, in pain)
What can you do to allay these fears? (strengthen my body)
How do you want to feel when you’re 60? 80? 100? (Fit! Energetic! )
What is a doable routine for this week that would support that goal? (Hmmmm…)

I went home and sat at my desk and made a nerdy little spreadsheet with cells that said things like 8k steps, yoga 30 mins, and biceps 15x, 3 sets. Basically: strength, stretch and sweat.

To my astonishment, I worked out the next day. And the next. And the next. I worked out every day for the past two weeks.

Aging is a Sacred Privilege

Andrea Gibson, Colorado’s brilliant poet laureate who died last summer of cancer at the age of 49, reminds me of the heart-breaking and poignant truth that aging is a privilege.

In the extraordinary documentary Come See Me in the Good Light, there’s a scene in which Andrea and their wife Meg use an old age filter to see what they’d look like in 40 years.

The image of their wrinkly old faces brings them to tears. Not with grief at the idea of losing their youth, but with a profound longing for the opportunity to age.

Many people would be terrified to behold in such detail their wizened faces, cheeks dotted with sun spots, skin slack from decades of gravity. Loose neck skin, bad teeth, grey hairs.

But that’s all Andrea wanted. To have the privilege of getting old.

The fact that they were deprived of this privilege reminds me of how lucky I might be to get really old and wrinkly.

As I face the inexorable passage of time, I am learning to see old age as something to look forward to rather than fear.

I also see it as a sacred responsibility: To be the steward of this body and take care of it for many years to come.

A Big Shift

Once again, a dream has woken me up.

To the realization that aging is a privilege.

To the idea that I don’t need to fear getting old.

To the fact that I have a responsibility to take care of myself in a way that sets me up to age well. To treat my health as sacred.

I don’t know how long it will take to turn this inspired burst of activity into an established habit, but I do know this: I’ve found a new source of motivation.

Future me. Old lady me. The wise and wrinkly crone chortling away with her friends in the Ojai foothills—our bones strong, our muscles lithe, our backs straight, and our energy buoyant.

Who’s coming with me?