Seasons and Horizons

I woke up thinking I had forgotten something.

There was a missing piece. Something I needed to find, something I hadn’t finished, some agreement I was supposed to remember.

But as I became more awake, I couldn’t identify what it was. There wasn’t an actual task attached to the feeling. It had been part of a dream.

Then I would fall asleep and find myself doing it again.

The last couple of weeks had been full of things that needed attention. Helping my mom. Moving things. Unloading a truck. Sorting out what needed to go where. Trying to make sure the important pieces were in place.

There had also been my son’s wedding, with preparations on Friday and the wedding on Saturday. He had things well coordinated, but the electrical portion was my responsibility. I had my part to work out and make sure it was ready.

Thinking about it now, I realize how much coordination I had been doing even away from the job—especially with helping my mom move. I needed to know who would be there, how much they could help, and whether they were bringing trucks. Having people available was only part of the arrangement. We needed a way to move things, too.

About four hours before we were supposed to start, I learned that the trucks I’d been counting on weren’t coming. I had an SUV. Suddenly, a critical piece of the plan needed another solution.

Once we got moving, my cousin brought a lot of practical experience to loading and arranging things, and we worked together. But getting everyone and everything in place beforehand had already taken plenty of thought.

I was glad to help. Still, I was keeping track of pieces, making arrangements, and thinking ahead.

Then there was the job.

On Friday, a travel day, I took part in a long call about an issue we needed to resolve. I spoke up, helped clarify the problem, and came away feeling good about what we had accomplished.

Saturday, I worked to catch up on everything I could.

I had made progress. But that night, my mind still seemed to be searching for something I had missed.

That got my attention because I’ve been trying to understand a pattern in my life.

Twice now, I’ve traveled for work and noticed myself gaining weight and size during demanding assignments. That has been frustrating because I’ve also been making an effort to take care of myself.

I’ve cut out daily sodas and energy drinks. I still enjoy my morning coffee, but I’ve cut back on many processed foods. I rarely eat out, and I keep groceries and things to cook with so I can prepare meals where I’m staying.

Today, I picked up spinach, blueberries, strawberries, aged cheese, and lactose-free milk, which agrees with me better. I bought ground chicken and meat for a stew, along with potatoes, carrots, and an onion.

I’m walking, exercising, and paying attention to how much I eat. There’s a trail close by where I can get outside and walk several miles.

I enjoy that part of being here. I like traveling, and I’ve made myself comfortable away from home.

What stands out to me across those two assignments is the feeling that work never really ends.

I can get one area caught up and still have several others waiting. There’s another missing document, another inspection, another question that needs an answer. I enjoy solving those problems, but sometimes I’m still carrying them long after the workday is over.

And lately, going home has involved another set of arrangements to work through. Important things. People I love. Occasions I wanted to be part of. Still, being away from work hadn’t meant much time away from coordinating.

That’s part of why I asked my doctor about cortisol. I wanted to understand what was happening. I left wishing I had clearer answers.

I don’t know exactly what explains the changes I’ve noticed. But I’m beginning to pay closer attention to sleep.

Five or six hours can start to feel normal when that’s what I’m used to getting. I’m questioning whether familiar means enough for me.

When I make a deliberate effort to get to bed between nine and ten, I seem to do better. I’ve noticed it before, and last night reminded me of it again.

That sounds simple. Following through isn’t always simple.

After working, handling responsibilities, and taking care of whatever else comes up, I want some time to myself. I want to relax before the day is over. If I’ve worked late, I still want that time, even though the morning isn’t going to arrive any later.

So bedtime gets pushed back.

It feels as though there’s a window when falling asleep comes more easily. If I push past it, the night seems to go differently. That’s my observation. I’m still learning what to make of it.

But I can see that I’ve been putting thought into my groceries, my exercise, and my responsibilities while leaving sleep to fit around everything else.

It reminds me of something I’ve learned about relationships.

Relationships can be difficult. Two separate people bring their own experiences, habits, expectations, and needs. They won’t always think alike, and it takes time to discover where they’re aligned and where they’re different.

But that discovery requires time together.

I’ve said before that I don’t want a relationship where I only get whatever time and energy someone has left. And that has to work both ways. I have to make room for the other person, too.

How much time each person needs is part of learning whether the relationship works. For me, especially in the beginning, spending time together matters. Talking, listening, and sharing ordinary moments are how we get to know each other.

If neither person arranges time for that, how can the relationship move forward? There has to be a willingness to give it a place in both lives.

I recognized that in relationships. Now I’m recognizing a similar pattern in how I treat rest.

I’ve been expecting sleep to fit into whatever hours remain.

I won’t manage an early bedtime every night. There will be late workdays, travel, and things that genuinely need attention. Still, I’d like to stop treating bedtime as whatever remains after everything else is done.

Because everything else is rarely done.

There will be another question at work. Another errand. Another person who needs help. I can care about those things and still reach a stopping point for the day.

My pastor used to talk about margin. I’m beginning to see how much I need it in the evening—a little room to settle down before I expect myself to fall asleep.

I’m grateful for the work I was able to move forward. I’m grateful I could help my family and share in my son’s wedding. I also need rest.

Tonight, I want to give myself time to quiet down, pray, and let the day end.

Whatever is still unfinished, I can return to it in the morning.