Lately, I have had to lay with my son at night to get him to fall asleep. Sometimes (often), I fall asleep too and wake up a few hours later. Sometimes I wake up and stumble into my own bed. Sometimes, I stay up for a few hours, the only one awake in a sleeping house.
I stayed awake this time, purposely welcoming year thirty-two in the quiet.
I know I’m losing sleep, but quiet, uninterrupted time alone refuels me in ways that sleep never can.
In the precious stolen hours, I’ve watched full episodes of NCIS on Netflix, without having to press pause even once. I’ve read through a few devotions in Ann Voskamps 1000 gifts devotional, I’ve ran through a short exercise sequence I like, I’ve had some sleepytime tea, I’ve scroll social media (just a little), I’ve taken the dog outside and breathed the thick air of a southern November, and I’m writing, just a little.
I do need to wind back down soon, get a few more hours of sleep. My body can function on fragmented sections of sleep, but not on only 4 hours anymore, like I could have a couple of decades ago.
It seems bizarre to me that I’ve lived decades – decades sounds impressive but it feels like I’m still stumbling around, getting started with it all. And yet, decades have gone by.
I remember so much so vividly that sometimes I can’t believe how long ago some of those memories were made. Sometimes though, it does seem like a lifetime or two ago that I shared a room with my sister, or went on dates with my high school boyfriend, or wore my wedding dress, or brought my daughter home from the hospital.
So much of life happens in such rapid succession that you don’t always recognize it’s passing until it’s long gone.
Days pile upon one another until all of a sudden you realize that you’ve lived a few decades worth of a life.
It’s a story everyone ends up telling, isn’t it? And yet, when it’s your story, you really feel it, don’t you?