Yes, it's another of those mornings. I went to bed last night with one thought pertaining to sleep on my mind: Gotta get some, catch up that lost hour, maybe even more.
Wrong.
This year, daylight saving time has really taken its toll on the little hamster that lives inside my head. Part of it could be that my body is run-down from fighting sickness all winter. It could be stress (I've got lots of stressful situations to pick from). I believe, though, that it's a combination of these in addition to the "what if" component.
A friend of mine calls it awfulizing. That's pretty much what happens, too. I think that it's a vestige of my old lifestyle - where my mind imagines all kinds of things that could happen in any given situation, then plays out that scenario to the final conclusion - usually based on my fears of what might happen and my core beliefs about what I deserve.
The thing about that whole process is that it is focused on a period of time I have no control over: what happens next.
The future has always been a specter for me - the unknown - replete with black robes, scythe and that maniacal grim-reaper's grin. I've spent most of my life trying to control whatever outcomes pertain to me and to my loved ones. It is an illusion of course, and it wastes a whole bunch of energy.
Still, the clock mocks me with each blink of the colon between the hour and the minute - 4:00. In the morning. Toss, turn, think, pray. By 5:00 I suspect I won't be getting back to sleep; by 5:30 I'm sure of it.
So I get out of bed, slip on my bathrobe and pad out into the kitchen. I set the timer on the microwave to go off in about 90 minutes - and I head to the computer to write.
Writing clears my head, helps me to make sense of what is going on inside of me.
My thoughts dwell on upcoming events, schedules and plans for those. It surprises me how much I have on my schedule.
Another thing that looms large is my family - specifically my kids. With one expecting surgery in the next few weeks, and another making tentative plans to strike out on her own, I find myself wondering what will happen, being concerned about possibilities that I can't influence: outcomes that - as much as I want to - have nothing to do with how much I fret about them.
I pray. I tell Him all about it, leave it in His hands.
I choose to let go. Again.
Day dawns inside of me, sunlight evaporates the mists of worry.
This is a matter of trust, not of trying.
I relax. I come back from the foggy realm of 'what if' - return to this specific twenty-four hour period - and leave the phantom of 'tomorrow' alone.
'Today' looks a bit brighter as a result.
Wrong.
This year, daylight saving time has really taken its toll on the little hamster that lives inside my head. Part of it could be that my body is run-down from fighting sickness all winter. It could be stress (I've got lots of stressful situations to pick from). I believe, though, that it's a combination of these in addition to the "what if" component.
A friend of mine calls it awfulizing. That's pretty much what happens, too. I think that it's a vestige of my old lifestyle - where my mind imagines all kinds of things that could happen in any given situation, then plays out that scenario to the final conclusion - usually based on my fears of what might happen and my core beliefs about what I deserve.
The thing about that whole process is that it is focused on a period of time I have no control over: what happens next.
The future has always been a specter for me - the unknown - replete with black robes, scythe and that maniacal grim-reaper's grin. I've spent most of my life trying to control whatever outcomes pertain to me and to my loved ones. It is an illusion of course, and it wastes a whole bunch of energy.
Still, the clock mocks me with each blink of the colon between the hour and the minute - 4:00. In the morning. Toss, turn, think, pray. By 5:00 I suspect I won't be getting back to sleep; by 5:30 I'm sure of it.
So I get out of bed, slip on my bathrobe and pad out into the kitchen. I set the timer on the microwave to go off in about 90 minutes - and I head to the computer to write.
Writing clears my head, helps me to make sense of what is going on inside of me.
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| "Sunrise at First Sight" courtesy of Keattikorn at www.freedigitalphotos.net |
Another thing that looms large is my family - specifically my kids. With one expecting surgery in the next few weeks, and another making tentative plans to strike out on her own, I find myself wondering what will happen, being concerned about possibilities that I can't influence: outcomes that - as much as I want to - have nothing to do with how much I fret about them.
I pray. I tell Him all about it, leave it in His hands.
I choose to let go. Again.
Day dawns inside of me, sunlight evaporates the mists of worry.
This is a matter of trust, not of trying.
I relax. I come back from the foggy realm of 'what if' - return to this specific twenty-four hour period - and leave the phantom of 'tomorrow' alone.
'Today' looks a bit brighter as a result.
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