There is nothing like flying into the sunrise and cheating the night.
When you fly west from Europe to the states, you cheat time. Everyone knows that.
But what about flying straight into that rising sun, and cheating the night?
When you fly west from Europe to the states, you cheat time. Everyone knows that.
But what about flying straight into that rising sun, and cheating the night?
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For me, this is a bittersweet revenge, because for months night has been cheating me. Some of this is my doing--not setting boundaries, taking on too many responsibilities. Even when I do let go, nights remain a huge unknown; will I wake sweating from a violent dream? Will I burst into wakefulness at 5:30 with my brain convinced it's ready to roll, even though my body is not?
On a recent trip to Ireland, halfway through the flight, I put my watch ahead five hours, watched as the sun rose in front of us, way sooner than my biological clock would have allowed, and reveled in the success of having one less night to suffer through.
On a recent trip to Ireland, halfway through the flight, I put my watch ahead five hours, watched as the sun rose in front of us, way sooner than my biological clock would have allowed, and reveled in the success of having one less night to suffer through.
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It's no coincidence that I happened to cheat the night on the way to Ireland. Because nowhere else does my brain catch fire like this place. I stopped in Dublin many years ago on the way home from Spain, and the city bit me in the ass; the aliveness, the air a soupy mix of diesel and ocean spray, the squawk of the gulls over the River Liffey. The city sliced a vein and I made no effort to stitch it up. Instead, I let it bleed into a novel.
Attempts to deconstruct the rationale of this connection are an exercise in futility. As far as I know, none of the lost tribes wound up here. So if there's a blood connection, it must be from a past life.
All I do know is that this city is sweaty and full of speed, it's dirty and it's alive, it's loud with the thumping of disco, punk, thrash metal, car horns, voices, and the heartbeats of artists everywhere. Not only do I not sleep here, or in the rest of the country, my brain combusts, spewing creative output at a pace that baffles even me.
Attempts to deconstruct the rationale of this connection are an exercise in futility. As far as I know, none of the lost tribes wound up here. So if there's a blood connection, it must be from a past life.
All I do know is that this city is sweaty and full of speed, it's dirty and it's alive, it's loud with the thumping of disco, punk, thrash metal, car horns, voices, and the heartbeats of artists everywhere. Not only do I not sleep here, or in the rest of the country, my brain combusts, spewing creative output at a pace that baffles even me.
For many years I fought it, forcing myself to stay in bed eight hours, self-imposing separation from my work, taking long quiet walks to distract myself.
Eventually though, I gave up. And then I gave in. Tossed the anxiety, the sleeping pills, the self-flagellating head-wrecking, all of it, and took the gift for what it was: an uninterrupted awakening of the soul.
So all those dark circles under the eyes you'll be seeing now?
My paycheck.
They may not look good, but they're a good thing indeed.
It should be an interesting trip. Stay tuned.
Eventually though, I gave up. And then I gave in. Tossed the anxiety, the sleeping pills, the self-flagellating head-wrecking, all of it, and took the gift for what it was: an uninterrupted awakening of the soul.
So all those dark circles under the eyes you'll be seeing now?
My paycheck.
They may not look good, but they're a good thing indeed.
It should be an interesting trip. Stay tuned.
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