“What is the bravest thing you’ve ever said?” asked the boy. “Help.” said the horse.” –Charlie Mackesy
I am a morning person, in so many ways. I wake up on most days completely full, aroused, reflective, appreciative, energized. I am happy to be alive. I usually wake up near 5am. It’s still dark out. I love this. I love the quiet, like it’s my secret, like tiptoeing isn’t out of the question. When I make coffee, I smile at its heated scents of soil and bark, woods, moss, leaves, cocoa, and abide its slide into and over my senses. It’s hot. Everything is possible. Everything.
Consequently, I am productive in the morning. I meditate. I quick check my emails, and skim my overnight texts from family, (I mean I do go to bed near the 9pm EDT mark, and with west coast children, that can be several missed texts). I study, and read, dig rabbit holes. I write. I organize bills, consider dinner. Eventually, after a perfect shit, (kind of not kidding) I’ll stretch, move, and meld into music and movement and love. Mornings are — begin again.
So when in the middle of all of this nirvana-ish nonsense, I receive a text from a friend that lives far away, it would be safe to say, if I immediately want to call her, (and I do) knowing this conversation will likely last well over an hour, (and it does) and the hour will displace the flow of my morning time that normally entails everything I just mentioned above, that this must be a friend I would rather not live without - a friend who listens, who shares, who doesn’t judge, who uplifts, who waits, who drops everything, who laughs with me, at me, who grieves openly alongside me and holds silence next to me. I call her after seeing her text, because she too, is an investment. Talking on the phone with her aligns with my thriving as the sun rises because we are, in conversation, acceptance and connection, just the same as my morning flow. BAM! goes a large chunk of my bliss, as we catch up, dive down, laugh deep, get teary, be silly, talk dirty, send photos; we bring each other the feels which manifest out of being in relationship, in connection. I am so lucky. We are. My morning time, because of her, is larger, more expansive.
At night, I am different. I can be lazy, unmotivated, hungry, agitated, restless, distracted, grasping, unfulfilled, perhaps I am primarily, tired. I know how to reroute myself and sometimes do, (meditating, reading, and writing all help) but sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I self-medicate. And by that, I’m not implying I turn toward a specific substance to medicate myself with. I have. But sometimes, I turn toward an inwardly directed negative talk on repeat, or ruminate and sabotage my self by stepping on a self-hate struggle bus. I wish it was easy for me to avoid that ride. Considering how “self-aware” I am, you’d think I’d back up and away from roads of diminishment. My brain can be fickly. I can be seduced by my ego.
Can I call you? Can you help?
Going to bed helps. Sleeping. Dreaming. And the next day, when I wake up, (if that’s my fortune) in that familiar and habitual place of gratitude and awe, I begin again. I guess, what I am realizing is, the length of a day, occasionally, is too much for me.
Maybe we glitch differently. Or maybe your hiccups last longer than mine, like for days, or years, or a lifetime. Maybe you’re a night owl and mornings are a nightmare. I don’t know. But. What I would say is, if your inner dialogue darkens you, weakens you, saddens you, overwhelms you, if your brain becomes fickly at times — reach out, find a connection, a listener, a feeder, a friend, a helper. No matter the time of day, first thing, last thing, or in the middle of the night, there might be someone waiting and ready to help you find your groove, or at least do a hell of job in trying.
