confessions of an insomniac

It’s 8:07 a.m. on a Sunday morning.  I’ve more or less been up all night, practicing “resting” in  bed for a while.  Perhaps I had an hour of restless sleep that didn’t satiate the body’s need.  Perhaps not.  My friend and I didn’t turn in last night until rather late.  Which is, of course, what happens when you haven’t seen someone for a year….  However, I’m not sure that it  would have really mattered anyway.  All this to say that I’ve become more disciplined in the last few years; I know not to watch the clock anymore.  It’s too depressing…watching the hours slowly wind by, hoping for morning to come sooner rather than later….

A friend of a friend in Omaha is also an insomniac.  We traded stories over wine at dinner one night at our mutual friend’s house.  It was nice to have this moment of solidarity with someone who really “got it.”  Because most of the time it feels pretty isolating–this incapcity to sleep.  Listening to fellow grad students talk about taking afternoon naps and wondering if that will ever be a gift again in my own life again.  Trying to trick my body and mind through ritual and rite to relax into that deep sleep that most people take for granted.  That feeling after a night (or two) of not sleeping when the whole world seems to be moving too fast and my brain processing in slow  motion.   So I’m left to will more grace into my life both for myself and those that end up in my path on my grumpiest of days.

In a rather strange moment the other night, I was sitting in a Village Inn (for the first time ever) around 1:30 in the morning, sharing a pitcher of cranberry juice (my drink of choice after a night of solid dancing).  Suddenly, my dance partner for the evening asked me: “What tape plays in your head?  Is it critical, affirmative…?”  I don’t really remember the context of the conversation anymore; it was late and I was tired.  Still, his question startled me.  I found it provacative and interesting.

In ansewring him, I replied that I know during my first couple years of teaching, the tape was far too critical.  I had an critic’s eye for my mistakes alone.  Now, I look at much of my teaching work (from the same time period) and can affirm what is good within it.  However, if I ask myself that same question with regard to how I sleep, the tape is definitely on critical mode.   Like right now, hours after I started this entry, it’s time for bed really, but I go there with hesitation and wonder as to what the night will bring.  And I’m beginning to see more and more that learning compassion for onesself may be my biggest challenge in the end.

So when the day’s done, just know that when you’re tempted to think that there aren’t enough hours in the day to do all the things you need/have to/want to do: know that there are.  Take it from someone who’s been “blessed” with more waking hours than she’s wanted during the past three years.  You have enough.  We all do.

Ames, Iowa

November 7, 2010