Sleepless

I love my youngest daughter so very much. I love my older daughters too, but they are full-grown adults and have been for some time, so we see each other occasionally and talk on the phone to stay caught up with each other, and I think it's awkward for all of us when I forget they aren't ten years old and still need help getting ready for school. They choose to love me as well as tolerate me, and I'm grateful for that.

My youngest daughter knocks me out. I'm so very proud of her as she trasitions from being a child to an adult. She is finding her way, and I see, every time I'm with her, how she is becoming her own unique person.

I imagine she has always had her own view of the world, but lately, she has taken on a level of awareness and sophistication that I greatly respect. I adore her kindness. I'm enlivened by her observations. I have a fairly whacked-out sense of humor, and she can meet me right out at the edge. I admire her work ethic. And… I love to hang out with her.

This afternoon, I made the three-minute drive from where I live to where she works at one of our local marinas. I was just putting the car in park when she called me to make sure I hadn't forgotten her. I had not forgotten her, and for good measure, I was one minute early. So, a gold star for me!

When we got home, she curled up on the couch, and I spent time trying to find a good tone for my guitar. I recently got some new gear and it's still early days as I wade through finding out how to get that perfect sound. It helps to be a nerd and an artist to get through the learning curve.

She fell asleep for about an hour, and I remember doing that when I would get home from work. It is delicious. When she woke up, she was full of beans, so we mounted an expedition to go to the village and feed her friend's cat.

She's our chauffeur now, and she has become an awesome driver. I'm at the point now where I've removed the imaginary steering wheel and brake from the passenger seat, and I'm ready for the next big step—a long road trip when I can nap while she drives.

We drove to Island Market to get cat food and were able to muster the strength to buy an additional $130 worth of food, which included a steak that I managed to cook to perfection when we got home.

We usually watch something in the evening, and she was pretty excited and gave teasers for twenty different movies, so I left the choice in her hands, and a good thing, too. I'm always up to try something that she wants to watch, with the proviso that we stay away from horror. God bless her pointed little head, but I can't stand that genre. Tonight we watched Batman, The Lego Movie.

When I was growing up, we had a subscription to the New Yorker. I was only seven, so I wasn't big on the articles, but for some reason, I loved the cartoons. Wordplay, cynicism, dry wit, and the occasional pratfall. Batman didn't disappoint. It looks like a kid's movie, but just like Rocky and Bullwinkle, there was plenty of adult content that had me cracking up through the whole thing.

I was getting tired by the end of it, and when it was over, I took a shower to get the rest of the little hair clippings off of the back of my neck. That's just part and parcel of getting a trim. I crawled into bed at 10:45 and did my regular sleep math. Read for half an hour, asleep by 11:15, wake up at 7:15, and that equals eight hours of sleep, which would be great because I have a few plans for the day to come.

The plan was working perfectly until 11:20. I fell asleep and woke up. Wide awake. I started reading again, waiting to feel tired enough to sleep. Then I went to the bathroom, because at my age you never miss an opportunity, and I crawled back into bed. Watch this—Deja-vu—I started reading again, waiting to feel tired enough to sleep. I was not successful.

I just spent a great night with someone I adore, enjoyed a good movie, got tired, took a shower, crawled into my comfortable bed, and fell sound asleep—for five minutes. It's almost 3:00 a.m. now, and I'm still wide awake. I've had a snack. I watched an episode of The Pitt. I spent twenty minutes with a Buddhist meditation. I'm avoiding any more liquids, and now I'm writing.

I opened this essay up with things that are going well because I very much want to be aware of that. I'm seeking some balance, and it's getting hard to find. I'm worried and that got the best of me this morning.

Most days, I talk to a long-time friend of mine, and our discussions are wide-ranging. This morning, I wandered off into politics, and before I could stop myself, I went on a five-minute dystopian rant and, more than at any other time, I wanted to order four years' worth of emergency food and build a bunker.

My sister meets with a group of women once a week. A few weeks ago, they were talking about fear. The book they were reading suggested that ninety percent of our fears are of our own making. Which may be true most of the time. On this particular day, they were facing very real-world circumstances, and fear was an appropriate response. I'm experiencing this. Also, a sense of dread, with three packets of anxiety to add flavor.

At both the beginning and the end of the day, I ask the question, "How can I best serve those I love." To be fair, I also ask if there is any Cherry Garcia left. Spoiler: I am of average spiritual intelligence and probably below average in applying it, but I want to be a comfort to my friends and a fierce supporter of the broadest social safety net. I think the days and months to come are going to be rough. This isn't a "blow over" situation. I think it is intended that I be overwhelmed and incapacitated—and that could happen. Living in the outback of Alaska or on a remote South Pacific island both have their appeal to me. Fuck this shit, I believe they say in France. But maybe I don't have to.

I have a life raft of friends and community. My life raft has a slow leak that is my propensity to depression and isolation. I have to pump in new air to keep it afloat. Lucky me, I have people I love and people who love me—I have a moral compass—I have brave people in my life who show me how to be brave—I have commitments to show up for. All of this will keep my raft afloat if I let it.

It's almost bedtime again, and my odds of sleeping are better. On this particular night, I couldn't stop worrying. I was caught in its tractor beam. I used several strategies to get out of it, but it was tenacious. The good news is that it was temporary, and I was able to get to sleep at last.

Today, I spent time with my daughter. I did laundry. I was helpful to a friend. I ate well. This is me pumping air into my life raft. If I'm going to be any help to anyone else in this unfolding chaos, I'm going to have to stay in the middle. I'm all for solitude and retreat, but that is a different animal than isolation and depression.

The older I get, the more I appreciate Fred Rogers. I'm thinking of his quote, "When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.” It's a reminder that navigating the days to come doesn't have to come down to just me. If I'm willing to stay present, I will remember to be part of us.

At some point, I was given this definition of courage. Courage is action in the face of fear. Tonight, I'm grateful for the people who inspire me and buoy me. "Suit up and show up," now more than ever.