I had insomnia again last night. It manifested differently than the night before. This time, I just couldn't go to sleep. Given I had spent so much time outside working the garden, I thought for sure I'd just fall right off. But no. So I tossed and turned, tried to keep myself from resorting to a screen (that was futile), and eventually went through what happens in the darkest hours, the dark parts of my soul. I reflect on all the ways in which I feel separate and alone, feel betrayed and forgotten, feel useless and untalented. I know these are not "true". The fact that my mind skips along doing what it does can be...frustrating. So I just hold myself (because Avery isn't a cuddler, ya know?), talk to myself, counsel myself, until it runs its course.
What is it about the dark hours? In the sunny times, this doesn't happen, or is less likely. It's in that darkness that all this bubbles up. I should be thankful, honestly, that's it's not my 24/7 default. There's a lot I am thankful for. I'm safe, fed, clothed and housed, after all.
And yet... It's like my psyche was split when my divorce happened. No, things weren't perfect before, but I thought there was potential and I know I felt purpose. I'm still working through what it means to be alone, working on feeling value simply because I exist instead of what role I play in others' lives. It's hard to be far from my kids, even though they're grown, living their own lives. And they impress me, the wonderful humans they are. But not to be able to share birthdays and holidays on the regular, to randomly suggest meeting for lunch or whatever...it feels like missing out. And the years pass.
I made my choices based on the information I had both within and without. Don't we all? It's not been a mistake. I've learned things about myself that I never would have had I had a viable option to stay in California. But although I can find joy and express good cheer, it doesn't deny the scars under the surface. Maybe they'll never go away. I'm inclined to think that. Maybe it's about working with what is, finding joy in the moment, balancing the acknowledgement of pain with the potential and purpose of right now. It's about feeling whole, complete and connected right now, no specific conditions needed.
But there are things we need, don't we, we humans. We need community and purpose. We need intimacy. I'm a strange bird, I realize this, so the process of satisfying these needs is perhaps more drawn out than it might be for someone else.
The sunshine is muted today, but warmth is on the way...and then rain. The birds are in fine voice. There's a pile of wood chips waiting for to be moved, a roll of film to process. Avery is staring at me, a faint whine coming from her throat as if to ask, "can we *please* go outside now?"...and so we shall.
