Something wakes you.

It’s a little nagging sort of thing, nearly imperceptible, but annoying enough to get your attention:  a cat scratching at the door, disarranged covers that let in the cold.  Maybe it’s just a worrisome thought.

But, now you can’t return to sleep.  It has taken hold, and you have to do something about it.  There’s a sigh, the covers are tossed back, and your feet touch the ground by your bed, a hand sheltering your eyes from the morning light.

You are up.

I’m sure you’ve had a Saturday morning like this—shaken out of a peaceful slumber by something unexpected.  It’s a nuisance, surely, but nothing much bigger than that.

So, what happens when this occurs on a grander scale?  What happens when we wake up to a life that we no longer recognize, or we are pulled from a restful and gentle place into a life characterized by confusion and distress?

Last year, I spent a big portion of this season writing about emotional spring cleaning:  ways that we could take inventory of ourselves and make changes and adjustments as needed.  Today’s post expands on that notion.

Wakey wakey

During the winter months, our bodies and minds are concerned with warmth and comfort.  The coldness of the season draws us inward.  We lose ourselves in the sleepiness of thick blankets and warm beverages and holiday shopping.

Yet, even as we lose ourselves in the busyness of the holiday season, the animals and trees are all hibernating, waiting for spring.

So, if winter is a warm marshmallow, spring is a bit of cold water on your neck—brisk and refreshing but also a little bit sharp and maybe unwelcome.

“Just five more minutes,” you say.  “I just need a little bit more rest.”

There’s an expansiveness about the spring season that just begs you to step in and see what growing might happen this year.

But, maybe you don’t feel like it.

Maybe you just needed a little more sleep—but now, here you are, very awake and sleep past the point of repair.  You’re awake, you’re aware, and you’re perhaps a little bit pissed about this intrusion.

Perils of the endless slumber

If you think about it, though, that nap was going on a little bit long.  Maybe you needed to wake up.  Sleep is all sorts of good things—beneficial and restful and restorative—but a sleep that is not punctuated by periods of wakefulness is named death.

Sometimes there are truths or aspects of our lives that we want to sleep through.  We are unsure how to navigate the waters— there too many feelings and thoughts causing turbulence in our hearts and relationships.  So, we “sleep.”  We find comforting ways of numbing or quieting these sensations and thoughts.

At other times, we find a place of comfort and encircle ourselves with it, not daring to pass the perimeter into uncharted territory.  We are not protecting ourselves against hardship or unhappy truths.  Rather, we simply want to protect our own sense of comfort.  We go with what we know, avoiding risks, dodging uncertainties.  These practices offer us a feeling of control and comfort.

Yet, this excess of comfort can evolve into complacency and from there, a deadening inside of us.  This arrives as a feeling of emptiness or boredom or purposelessness.  We do these things to avoid the pain of change.

The pain of change

I’m not simply talking about the season of spring as a time of change.  I’m also talking about a kind of change that happens at all times of year—the pain of rude awakenings—that can leave us feeling bereft and angry.

Change comes to us in all sorts of ways.  Sometimes it’s a slow burn, announcing itself gently and occurring gradually.  We may even have a grand, clarifying epiphany about the state of our lives.

More often than not (and perhaps I speak only from personal experience here), change comes clad in confusing language and symbols and dreams and feelings.  Something shifts, and suddenly our hearts and minds are clamoring like a struck bell, reverberating with the power of a change they cannot fully comprehend.

In those moments, it can feel as though we’re left with a handful of questions and a cryptic map that has no key or compass.  You spend half your time just trying to figure out which way is north before figuring out where it is you want to go.  That sort of confusing upheaval can feel overwhelming and painful.

So it’s no wonder that sometimes, even perhaps against our better judgment, we sleep.  The peril is that we may not remember to wake up.

Wake up

If you’re tired of sleeping, check in with yourself.

What changes will this season bring you?  What are you waking up to in your life?