I have the hardest time going to bed at night.
It’s not that I’m unable to sleep or am too busy to break away from whatever needs doing.
I am reluctant to give up the night.
I hate relinquishing time that is all mine; time free of obligations and dictations.
I always feel like there is much more that I could do to make use of the time and to spill out all the pent up creative energy that’s been building up in the unremembered sectors of my brain. All these bits and pieces of thought and inspiration that would amount to some world-shattering paradigm shift if only I could get it out of the region where it’s been marinating for so long.
I suppose I just want to pack every moment with something, even if it’s only thought. Not that I succeed in this. But I still desire it.
The funny thing about this reluctance to sleep is that I LOVE to sleep. It’s one of my favorite things. And I very rarely have any trouble sleeping. I have trouble waking up. Mornings are just not good for me. Once I’m actually up and about, I adore the light and the peace and newness of morning, but waking can be so hard.
At times I wish I was an early riser, eager and able to rush out and begin the day, able to accomplish more with freshness and ingenuity, but that’s something I’ll have to work on if I hope to have it.
What I miss most about the evenings lately is good conversation. I love to hear a group of friends talk passionately on a subject that means something and has far reaching implications. I love to listen to lively and witty exchanges. I feel like they feed into me, filling me with mental sustenance. Even if I myself remain silent.
Books help, of course, if I can stay awake to read them.
I will have to visit that topic frequently and more in depth as this experiment progresses; for books, to me, are air, food, rest, and vigour.
Good night. I cannot deny sleep now and have it usurp the morning. Cannot because I still have two work days left before my weekend. Catch what moments we can in the now with the hope of more to be unveiled in the future. And always, as Emily Dickinson said, dwell in possibility.