At first I blamed this insomnia on everything I could. Backlit screens before bed, my wayward cup of tea too late after dinner, jobs I didn't yet have, things I couldn't control. I have spent twilight hours becoming better friends with melatonin or simply lying awake in the dark willing myself to slip in to slumber. No dreams tonight please. Tonight I did what I used to do, reached for a book. The book I reach for every time. It finds me when I need it and with certainty it always finds me this time of year.
It's not just the insomnia that has been off putting as of late but the sense of numbness as well. 2 years ago I was in the same predicament, between job and school (though this time it is the other way around) and waiting to move cities, change lives, start again, start fresh. Then why, I asked myself, was last time so different. Why was I enthralled with my camera last time, why could I not quench my insatiable desire to write? Why do I seem so uninspired and frankly listless compared to who I know myself to be? The motivation and energy just aren't there and I couldn't place my finger on it until now.
Every year I convince myself it's better, and to be honest it is, but every year I think I just wont feel it the way I always do. Picking up Anne Michaels' Fugitive Pieces tonight provided me with what it always does, just what I need. I read the notes I had made to myself. Every year, sometime around this time, I pick it up, read through the dog eared pages and remember. It will be 10 years ago this February and it pains me somewhat to admit that that is still the defining moment of my life. As much as my brain goes on much as it always does my body remembers, the imprint of distance and longing. It's something I think many of us still carry whether we want to or not. Drastic change, the kind that shifts our world view forever, for better or worse or both, is something that we carry with us. It weighs in my bones and in my heart.
I can't remember who I was before then. It's as if it were someone else entirely who lived my life for me until I was 17. It has taken the better part of 10 years for me to understand what trust means to me and to let someone in. I have moments where the anxiety and irrationality of it all takes over and yes, I wonder of it is worth the potential loss. I only have one choice with my answer and that is yes, it is, every time.
It's not just the insomnia that has been off putting as of late but the sense of numbness as well. 2 years ago I was in the same predicament, between job and school (though this time it is the other way around) and waiting to move cities, change lives, start again, start fresh. Then why, I asked myself, was last time so different. Why was I enthralled with my camera last time, why could I not quench my insatiable desire to write? Why do I seem so uninspired and frankly listless compared to who I know myself to be? The motivation and energy just aren't there and I couldn't place my finger on it until now.
Every year I convince myself it's better, and to be honest it is, but every year I think I just wont feel it the way I always do. Picking up Anne Michaels' Fugitive Pieces tonight provided me with what it always does, just what I need. I read the notes I had made to myself. Every year, sometime around this time, I pick it up, read through the dog eared pages and remember. It will be 10 years ago this February and it pains me somewhat to admit that that is still the defining moment of my life. As much as my brain goes on much as it always does my body remembers, the imprint of distance and longing. It's something I think many of us still carry whether we want to or not. Drastic change, the kind that shifts our world view forever, for better or worse or both, is something that we carry with us. It weighs in my bones and in my heart.
I can't remember who I was before then. It's as if it were someone else entirely who lived my life for me until I was 17. It has taken the better part of 10 years for me to understand what trust means to me and to let someone in. I have moments where the anxiety and irrationality of it all takes over and yes, I wonder of it is worth the potential loss. I only have one choice with my answer and that is yes, it is, every time.
