#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
River Afternoon
When we zoom across time zones, we’re doing something remarkable. The intellect wishes to zoom without remarking. The body refuses. The body, harmonized with the always-rhythmic natural world, insists its rhythms be honored. It will not yield gracefully. . .
Like all transitions, jet lag is a time of porous vulnerability, in which we occupy a zone of altered consciousness, similar to fever, or pregnancy, or the Tibetan concept of bardo, the state of existence between two lives. If jet lag had a god, it would be Janus, two-headed god of the doorway, one head looking back to the wristwatch, one head looking forward to the hotel lobby clock. . .
~ Beth Ann Fennelly, from “In Praise of Jet Lag”
Deep deep sleep, and then, forcing myself to look at the clock even though I did not want to get up. 10:00 a.m.! 10:00 a.m.?? I was late for my poetry workshop I’d stayed up writing the poem for. Ugh. Jet lag. I get it so rarely. Yes, I needed this deep eight hours of sleep; not tired til 2:00 a.m. But the day almost gone––at least the morning almost gone. I half-dressed, Zoom only requires a top, hit the coffee button and made it to workshop. Bleary eyed. Not quite myself. But somehow coherent with my feedback for others. And able to digest good feedback for my writing. Pleased I had the spontaneity to leap into the day. Still, the feeling all day of running behind, not being able to catch up. Missing things. I took Charlie for a five-mile walk. It drizzled slightly. A storm coming. Happy to be in woods, brown and dull as they are. A few dogwood berries, silver blue brighting the bracken. Calm river, quite black under a dull sky. Swirled with raindrops. Listening to Mozart. It was a wonderful walk. Then, back to work. Catching up on e-mail, finishing my newsletter to send tomorrow. Frank left early for travel to avoid the storm. House quiet. A short visit with my son whom I met at the river. Thirty-one years ago tonight, in labor. A birth tomorrow. My second. First daughter. Dunedin, Florida. Joy, joy, joy. A joyful delivery of a delicious girl, all grown up, with a child of her own.