The past few months I have found myself tired during the day, yet wide awake in the evening. Being lonely, the evenings are simply the worst. At least during the day there are things to look at, explore, and experience. At night, the veil is drawn short with its weight. Distances are shortened. Space becomes compressed. Being alone is magnified. Picking up a book is difficult – hard to concentrate. Taking melatonin works to a point, but it draws out the mornings to a large degree – shaking off the sleep takes too long.
Coffee and chia seed pudding every morning. It works for me. Like clockwork and something to depend on. Most days my blood sugar is alright. Others,. I endure spikes for unknown reasons. The body has a pattern of reflection all its own. I can’t pretend to have a clue how it all comes together. I write notes to my parents. It’s more personal than digital correspondence, it’s something to look forward to during long days, and its fun to write with my stable of fountain pens.
Old fashioned, tasteful, and thoughtful. I could simply raise the mailbox flag to send them on their way, but I drive to the post office late at night. Cutting through the solitude in my gentle reaching out. Making a little effort. Getting out of the house and enjoying the chilled evening breeze through an open window.
I envy those on paths of their making. Taking the world by the hand and hurting they way they see fit – rather than reacting to what comes their way. To live a life more of their choosing. Seeing things around the corner and down the road. To sacrifice the stable but boring protection of a house filled with a collection of unused interesting things. To cuddle with the environment.
To bathe in the fluoride-free water of a mountain lake. To let a driving wind dictate the direction of travel. To absorb life. To be part of something. To have more purpose than merely tidying up after meals and wonder if anything tomorrow might be worth the anticipation.
Scars. We all have them. Some care about their existence more than others. Some carry bags overflowing with concern and self-doubt. Holding them back from taking another step. Feeling sorry about their position in life.
Life has a beginning, a middle, and an end. It’s something we all deal with in different ways. Trying not to become strangers to ourselves while pleasing those we interact with. We please. We want. We wish, and we hope. At some point we need to remove the things that block us from happiness. We. need to turn the gaze inward and enjoy life instead of merely treading through it. Life is certainly worth living.
It’s hard. Whether it sucks now or later. But it’s worth living.