LET THE CLOCK TICK

January 3, 2019  1:04 pm

Rats! I’m losing this beautiful warm sunny day to a sleepless night. I have a few of them a year when I cannot catch even 30 minutes of sleep. I always struggle through half the night, trekking back and forth between bed, bathroom and couch. I gave up after 2 am and stayed on the couch, put on my earbuds and listened to Marci Shimoff’s Happy For No Reason. I was able to relax anyways, drifting in and out. I should have done it sooner. It’s always the hindsight of the should have.

By 6 am, the furry alarm clock was fussing, nudging me with her cold nose. I could ignore her for only a little while. It’s up and feeding her. Then she wants out to do her business and her impatient bark to come in when she was good and ready. It is one of those sleepless days when I’m too tired to stay awake but too wired to fall asleep. Talk about wasted days and wasted nights. I know exactly what that means.

I’m a little wiser, from experience, on what to and what not to do. Though I have a difficult time say no, I turned down my mother’s invitation to dim sum with the family. I couldn’t do it right away. I had to phone back. It wouldn’t be a good idea to be driving in my condition, especially with her and dad riding with me. Could my brother pick them up? I shouldn’t be surprised that he delivered some take out for me later. My mum cannot leave anybody out. She knows I love egg tarts and chicken feet.

I do feel most wretched but not enough to sleep. I’m feeling a bit sweaty and distraught. There’s no use in crying over spilt sleep. I will just have to sit/lay it out and not do anything stupid like driving or operating my Bernina. I will only create more trouble and havoc. I will be sorry like the time I tried to interview roofers for my parents’ damaged roof. I thought it would be harmless but I didn’t count on being so vulnerable. I could not be pressured to sign on the dotted line. I was wrong. I was lucky. I got out of it that time.

When I got a call from a funeral home this morning, I said no, there’s no chance even tomorrow that we could get together to talk about wills and estate planning. It’s tacky soliciting so soon in the new year. I already know I’m a procrastinator but I do have a will. I said I will call you if the need comes up.

I am tapping and sipping away here. I hope I still have a bit of judgement left. I hope I won’t saying anything inappropriate. My problem is I hate to waste time. My clock is ticking. I think I will let it tick. This is my wake up call. I have a headache and pain behind my left eye. I received this subscribed email from Jennifer Louden in my mailbox this morning. It’s a bit eery. The woman sounds just like me. I think I will take the fur baby for a short walk and fresh air.

  • Once upon a time, there was a woman who stood on the cusp of the new year and grinned.

    She grinned at all her past selves stretching behind her. Where once she would have judged those selves for their choices, now she bowed to them. They had brought her to this moment. Who would she be without them?

    She grinned too at all the Januarys of years past when she had started a diet or a written a long list of Big Hairy Goals or felt her heart contract with a hectic fantasy of needed achievement.

    She grinned at all the years she believed she had to do something, become something, fix something or someone.

    She grinned too at the ways she had once compared herself to others, forgetting the wholeness at the root of life and instead believing it mattered who made what and who got credit.

    She makes herself a cup of tea and curls up on the couch.

    Ah, how adorable she was.

    What is different now?

    She still desires to create, to write books, to make art, to earn money, to visit far-flung places, to work for social justice, to soften the parts of herself that clench and hide. Of course, she does.

    The difference, she realizes, is now she trusts herself to relax into the ever-present flow of life.

    She trusts herself to remember, again and again and then again, to open to love, to let life live her.

    She trusts life to carry her on a river of desire to ever greater intimacy with itself.

    She giggles. It all sounds rather silly and over-blown.

    But she feels the truth in her cells, this hard to put into words truth that life is something far bigger and richer and infinite than her plans and her thoughts and her funny story she has to do anything to be worthy.

    And with another grin, she lets life carry her out for a walk.

    Here’s to letting life animate, inspire, and carry you this year and every year.

    Love,
    Jen

    PS. My FREE Get Back to Creating Challenge: 5 Days to Find your Confident Flow is happening later this month! Sign up here to make sure you don’t miss out!


    twitter    •    pinterest    •    facebook
    PO Box 275, Niwot, CO 80504-9997


Send

About hafong

Hello! My name is (Leung) Hafong alias Lily Leung. You always say the last name first….that is the Chinese way. That is my partner lurking behind me. Since this is my blog, I won’t mention his name. But this is a rather cool picture. You see me and yet you don’t…sort of the way I feel about myself most of my life. So this blog is a self-exploration, an archeology dig of some sort. My tools…..words of a thousand or so at a sitting. I will try for that.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to LET THE CLOCK TICK

  1. Karen says:

    Thanks for this Lily. Who can’t relate to those nights, especially as we get oder. I loved the part you included at the bottom. We do need to honor our past selves. They are how we got here and they made us what we are today.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.