The phantoms of 3am

What is it about that certain time of darkness when the mind awakes and will not shut down? You look at the clock and sigh. You've enough experience to know that you are at a very fragile crossroads. Either the brain loop obsession that has just started about the thing you didn't do, should do or should be will shut down. Or it won't. If you are lucky, as you roll over, you find that internal switch and drift off. But, if you are like many, you have entered the zone where you feel most alone, inadequate and afraid and you lie there focused on one particular aspect of yourself, someone close to you or how the world is spinning out of control. Trying to find rest once those demons have arrived is impossible.

You probably guessed that I had one of these phantom visitors the other night. I did what I've done in the past. Found pen and paper and wrote down an important thing that had fallen through the cracks the day before. Ten minutes later I was up and added another note and then listened to the clock chime the quarter hour seven times. 

Now, often the next morning I've been unable to read my in-the-dark writing or the light of day put a different perspective on what was recorded. If it was a task, I usually found a way to handle it. If it was a phrase that I had thought masterful for some future musing, it's about fifty-fifty if my 3am self was truly wise. This time, the forgotten task was important enough to shoot off an early Saturday email to a colleague. A quick response told me it had been cared for.  

So, here are my lifelong learnings about the phantoms of 3am. What seems important usually isn't. There is the possibility that someone else already took care of what I forgot. What is happening is common so I am not alone. Up and down the block, people like me plus parents and caretakers are also awake. Breathing is important and trying to fight the phantoms doesn't work. I can trust myself to know if additional sleep or even rest is a probability and it's okay to put on the lights at 3am. That's it. Nothing profound or perhaps even helpful, except the next time this happens to you, maybe you won't feel so alone.

Marilyn