| Issue #37, December 8, 2006 |
Inspirations by Emily Weitz
Juggling and the Price of Sleep
Have you ever thought, “I can pull this off!” too many times in one day? As the years between myself and my graduation from adolescence have piled on top of each other, I find myself committing to too many roles, and then feeling like I don’t have time to do all the important things my life demands. As a result, I pay with sleep hours. Because while I’m sleeping, I could be doing one of the things I’ve told myself I would do.
This is not a complaint at all. I actually find myself knowing more why life is so precious because there are so many things into which I could throw myself fully.
Unfortunately, throwing yourself fully into something usually results in losing something else you had your hands in. So how do you dive into your job when your journal beckons? How do you make quality time for your family when you were up late with good friends the night before? How do you get to the museum or that movie you’ve been meaning to see when you haven’t even thought about that paper that’s due next week?
Perhaps I have taken on a lot of responsibility, but I am certainly not alone. I don’t even have the added consideration of a whole family that depends on me financially. I don’t even have a dog to take care of, for goodness sake. So, as I think about the all-too-common problem of “never enough time,” I am thankful that there’s so much greatness to experience in this momentary dance of life.
Still, what is the solution? Where do you trim down the action in life to find time for it all? I know my current solution of staying up late even though I wake at dawn, even though my throat’s starting to feel a little tender, is not the best plan. But it’s the only plan I can think of. I do it armed with Peach DeTox tea, with time for yoga classes, with showers in the dark by candlelight. I do it, indulging my needs all the way. Until I go to work.
You see, what they say about writers is true. They have day jobs. And my choice for a day job was no day job. It’s an all-the-time job. You see, I am a teacher in Harlem. Fourth graders. And those little angels will run you ragged. Their cute little pigtails and their shining eyes lure you right into their clutches, where they then invade your thoughts and even, occasionally, your dreams. They demand my undivided attention, divided 27 ways. They come in early, they stay late, they need to talk at lunch. But what about the great American novel I am in the middle of? What about the child development class I am taking at night? What about the column I write for this fabulous newspaper on the eastern tip of Long Island, where a piece of my heart resides?
And thus, sleep falls by the wayside.
I have to say, though, that it’s worth it. I wouldn’t trade my Saturday night on the Lower East Side, running around with tried and true friends. I wouldn’t trade time with my brother yesterday, scraping moss off the patio at his new place. I wouldn’t trade phone conversations, or that scene in Love, Actually when Emma Thompson is listening to “Both Sides Now” by Joni Mitchell. And I couldn’t, couldn’t, COULDN’T trade my hours devoted to planning lessons about Frida Kahlo and turning fractions into decimals. For the next week, let’s consider it a documented test, then. I will observe how my cold-ridden body responds to lots of inspiration, motivation, and fun. Can lots of hydration, purifying teas, hot showers, and yoga sessions make up for a few hours trimmed off the ends?
We shall see, in our next installment of “Inspirations.”
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