I am noticing a pattern in myself lately: my body hates mornings even more than usual. At first, I thought it was because I've had trouble sleeping, but I'm noticing that even on nights when I sleep nine or ten hours, I wake up drained. And I'm not the only one struggling: a number of people I know seem to be slowing down and wanting to curl up most of the time.
My theory? Our bodies want to spin chrysalides (yes, that's the plural of chrysalis). And we have to consciously struggle to keep it from happening. Nothing else makes sense, so I'm probably right.
It's tempting to just let it happen: who knows what metamorphoses we might undergo? And yet life seems worth not missing for any extended period of pupation.
Certainly, there are things I'd love to avoid, to be totally separated from by a naturally-produced organic blanket, but what's the point of getting away from those things knowing they'll still be there when I get back? And then there are the lovely things that simply cannot be experienced from a chrysalis at home in bed: playing cows with Kira on the trampoline, sitting in a car in the driveway and listening to the sound of the rain beating down on it, tracing patterns like old Indian mounds as I move my finger across my fiancee's skin.
On Drive and Contentment in Hamilton and My Life - I first listened to the musical Hamilton just after my friend Mel Leilani Larson got back from a trip to New York raving about the show, when she told us t...
6 months ago