Precious Daylight
Sometimes the only way to get things done is to make your peace with sitting in the dark for a while.
I get used to the fact that it gets dark early in the afternoon long before I get used to getting up at what feels like night. By temperament, I wake slowly. When I lived alone, I required a minimum of six alarms, a habit I forcibly ejected in favor of a beloved but very normal sleeper who shares my bed. For the first five years that we lived here, neither he nor the dog would not be able to settle back down if I rose before the shared appointed time. This was an excellent excuse to sleep in and lose what used to be my best writing time—that, and the hours past midnight.
Past midnight is generally lost to me now, thanks to intensive migraine management. The past few years’ routines have been reshaped by the undeniable needs of my body. For a while, I thought any writing time might be gone for good, but it has come back slowly on the heels of more reading than I honestly thought possible— again, thanks to accommodating the actual needs of my eyeballs. In the meantime, I have kept my hands busy sewing a wardrobe of clothing. My houseplants are taking over every surface. I started working on my first pair of shoes this week. There never seem to be enough waking hours now that I don’t take the time for granted.
The dog ignores me when I pry myself out of bed in the gloom of 6 am on a winter morning nowadays. He’s not a puppy anymore; he’d rather stay warm in bed than bully me into the morning walks that started this newsletter years ago. I stretch and put on tea, heat up hot pads and light candles, put some breakfast under the broiler, all routines a warm spine and a migraine-free day. I sit with my earplugs still in, soft light, half asleep, chipping away at a problem I couldn’t solve yesterday. Going to sleep with an unsolved sentence or a half-read chapter helps get me up with that first alarm. It’s a one-shot proposition that doesn’t always work. Not every morning—some are still a roll-over kind of day. With fewer nature walks on the table lately, I take what morning achievements I can get. Somehow, writing is getting done, and that’s what counts.
Even from inside, it’s so good to watch the sunrise with a hot cup of tea over the trees of the narrow wildlife reservation behind the house. And since some mornings I still don’t make there, it feels even more precious when I do. An hour or two to myself in the brightening dark where it’s just me and a couple of birds and the last of the moon — it might be worth it to give up midnight for that. Maybe not every day, but definitely some days, even if it’s just to do nothing. And then, when the sun is up and the rest of the house is awake, I put on all my layers, long underwear under canvas and wool, boots and jacket, and head out into the cold to hassle the turkeys and stomp catty ice. By then, the dog says there’s no time to waste.
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A Brief Set of Recommendations for 2023:
Audiobooks, specifically from your local library via Overdrive or Libby
Newsletters from Alejandra Oliva, Willy Blackmore, Alicia Kennedy
This extremely weird but useful tool if you too have horrible trapezius muscles.
Playing games with your friends (I’m partial to trivia, card games, and D&D)
Books I am excited about from Katy Kelleher, Jeanna Kadlec, Alejandra Oliva, Jaime Green, and Alicia Kennedy. (Some double dipping there, but it’s my newsletter and I can do what I want.)
Also, this past year, my work was anthologized in Catapult’s Body Language, selected as one of NPR’s books they loved in 2022. It’s an older essay on sewing, but in excellent company. Pick up a copy for some great essays.