This morning I woke up still exhausted from flirting with daylight the night before. Studies have found it can take up to a week to recover from our turning of the clocks, bargaining with nature to warm the day, brighten our winter weary spirits. I wonder what studies say about delirious daylight savings haze and missing someone you love? Or better yet, some ones you love?
In my clouded yawn, my turning over to rise, I noticed this morning in our house, it was unmistakably quiet. In these early hours, it’s not unusual to stumble into a few moments of quiet, but this morning was exceptionally still. Where was my beautiful chaos?
I almost forgot, as I walked into the boys’ room to find their empty beds, a few traces of toys scattered here and there. I should be grateful, relieved for a few days absent of the craze, confusion, complaints, and tears. I guess I miss the twisting busy hallway, the crowded bathroom, the energy and smiles, and yes, even the tears (well maybe not the tears so much).
I’m actually trying to embrace my moment of empty nest. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I used to love being alone (and sometimes I still crave it every now and then), but this morning felt lonely—just the words and me. But then I realized, this is exactly the way it’s supposed to feel like as a writer right—just the words and me? I’ll take this time alone, as it doesn’t come often, but admittedly I miss the beautiful chaos that normally rises later, clouds my thoughts with questions and insights, accompanies, distracts, or focuses my words and writing.
Good morning silence, I’m not used to you hanging around so long, but I could get used to you—at least for a little while.