It’s at night when we’re alone with our own private, exhausted thoughts that we begin to over-think. Already we can’t sleep – we’re tossing and turning and restless for hours on end, awaiting morning or sleep, though the latter is obviously preferable. We can’t sleep because of these burdening thoughts. When we can’t sleep, we think more. When we can’t sleep more we get more stressed. When we get more stressed we begin to think again about the toll that over-thinking has taken over our lives. On and on it goes until in two long, painful work days, we have accomplished a mere 4-5 hours of sleep and even those precious few hours feel like an accomplishment. It’s a vicious cycle of frustration and increasing stress that creeps up like the sheets we cover ourselves with us when our eyes begin to close and we pray they stay that way for a whole restful night.
When I’m lying awake I think about work, and I think about love, and I think about life and where mine is going (or where it’s not going). I overthink small things and as I lay there mostly motionless, they grow bigger and bigger like a snowball, made of the snow that’s been falling all day and all night that I can see the pale grey-midnight glow of from the window I can still see light out of because no matter how tired I am, I still can’t sleep.
This week I’ve been thinking about priorities and wonder what mine are as I drift between sleeping and waking, burgeoning career to full-time career, location to location. And I wonder, what is my priority? What are my unfulfilled dreams? What does anything mean, really, when you’re out here and you’re devoting yourself to a job that you sometimes are terrified of and sometimes want to hide from, but at the end of the day, you can’t tear yourself away from or apart from, and don’t want to under any circumstances?
I don’t believe in prayer really, but if I did I would pray tonight for sleep. and answers. But mostly sleep. Rest. For the bags under my eyes to disappear. For other quietly unfulfilled whims.