I haven’t slept much the past two weeks. Insomnia is a
frustrating condition. The body craves rest but the mind just won’t slow down
long enough to cross the border into slumber. There are too many thoughts —
various scenarios being played out in my head trying to anticipate the next
move knowing full well the outcome is beyond my control. That realization only
sends my mind into overdrive.
Most nights I sit out on the patio and gaze into the sky, hoping
to find serenity in the moon’s glow. But for the past two weeks there has been
no moonshine to bask in, nor the opportunity to reflect in its illuminating
glow. Instead, I tilt my head back in the chair and gaze at the stars the
filled the night sky praying that soulshine will find me somewhere down the line.
The stars in the Southern sky really are quite beautiful.
With my headphones on and the iPod set to shuffle, a gentle breeze pulled back
the quilt of humidity that covered the lawn as I leaned back in the chair and
hit play. As soon as the music began to play my mind switched gears faster than
a racecar driver at Road America. The scenarios that had been playing out in my
head were instantly replaced with memories with the music serving as the
soundtrack to my life. The images were so real and vivid it was almost as if I
could extend my hand into the starlit sky and touch them. As Huey Lewis began
singing in my ears I was catapulted back to the night my oldest son was born. I
left the hospital in La Jolla around 2 a.m., took the top off my Pontiac Fierro
and cranked up the volume on the radio. That song was playing as I cruised down
Pacific Coast Highway to the apartment in Carlsbad. At the first red light, I
stood up, poked my head through the open sunroof and shouted, “I have a son!”
at the top of my lungs. I remember
being overwhelmed with the feeling of absolute jubilation and stark terror at
the realization I knew nothing about being a father. Looking up at the moonless
sky, those feelings came rushing back as my mind began thinking about the past
three decades and my journey through fatherhood. James Taylor’s “Carolina in My Mind” starts playing and
thoughts of home come to mind — so strong I can almost smell the pines that
permeate the air near the home where I grew up. I remember the days of my youth
sitting on the side porch with my friends on summer nights talking about
baseball and argued over which one of us would be the first to make it to the
Big Leagues. Summer nights in the heart of Carolina, the air is so thick with
humidity you wear it like a winter coat. I’ve never complained about the heat,
or growing up without air conditioning. To this day, I miss it. When I was in
the Navy, that song brought me comfort my ship sailed across the Pacific,
sometimes for months on end. There were many nights at sea I’d pop in the
cassette into my tape deck, put on my headphones and let Taylor sing me back
home as the ship’s movement rocked me to sleep. Song after song, each one
refreshes a memory of my past that plays out in my mind as I stare into the night
sky. I remember every detail, every word that was spoken, even how I felt at
that exact moment in time. Good times and bad, they all are replayed, and with
each memory, another opportunity for self-reflection on what I did, and what I
didn’t. At time, the music made the memories a little to real, especially
during a Jackson Browne song as he sings “… don’t confront me with my failures.
I had not forgotten them." Thank God there is a skip button on the iPod, which made me wish that life came with a rewind button.
With each passing hour, I can feel my eyelids wanting to
close. I so want sleep to come, but rest keeps passing me by. Through the music
in my eyes I can still hear the internal clock ticking in my head, only the
ticking becomes louder as I realize there’s not much time left before the alarm
sounds. I try to make the clock stop ticking, but that only makes the sound
louder.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Why can’t I sleep? Instead of a light bulb going off above
my head from some great epiphany, instead I hear Robert Frost whisper through
the headphones, “But you have promises to keep, and miles to go before you
sleep. And miles to go before you sleep.”
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
I know that time is running out before the alarm sounds.
There’s lots of time to sleep after that, I tell myself. There’s so much to do
– so much I want to do.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
My eyelids are starting to get heavy and I can feel my mind
slowly beginning to ease into that state between fully awake and the place
where dreams are allowed to take form and take shape.
I hear my mom’s voice. “You’re no spring chicken anymore.”
My eyes pop open and once again I’m fully awake.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
John Denver’s “Annie Song” plays in the headphones, followed
by a tune from Keb Mo. More memories play out in my head, more emotions, more
reminders of things I could have done but missed the moment. Again I hear Frost
whisper in my ears through the headphones. “I told you to take the road less
traveled. But no, you had to do it your way. You’re no risk-taker, I’ll give
you that. But where has that gotten you? Tell me. Have you gotten everything
you wanted in life by staying on the main road with everyone else? Go on, tell
me, I can’t wait all night. My horses are waiting by the snowy woods and they
are anxious to get back to the barn.”
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
I just want to sleep. Where is the moonshine that fills my
spirit and serves as a beacon to light my way through life’s dark moments? In
the dark, moonless night, how can I find soulshine without it?
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Fully awake, I had to laugh aloud when chorus began for one
of my favorite songs by the Rolling Stones. I laughed because, while my dad
despised rock music, he was constantly praising the wisdom and sage advice
imparted in the song’s title. I could also find humor in the irony as Sir Mick
sang, “You can’t always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, you just
might find, you get what you need.” Again, I starred up at the stars as the
song played in my headphones. I conceded to myself that the stars really are
quite beautiful as I closed my eyes and waited for sleep to find me — or the
alarm to sound, whichever comes first.
