The Unescapable Sadness of 3am

Feeling the dark, but necessary, side of aging.

I am up at 3am once again. This seems to be a special hour, for some reason. I usually sleep well, but when I do wake up and am unable to go back to sleep, it’s almost always at 3am.

So, here I am. Feeling a deep sadness and heaviness. It’s part of the journey, I know.

I feel deep gratitude for my life, for the time I have had, for the time I have at this moment, for whatever time I may have left. I have loved and been loved. I look forward to more. I cherish each moment.

But some of those moments are a bit more painful than others.

This is one of them.

I am 70. Reaching that age has touched me in a different way. The next decade, should I be lucky enough to reach it, is 80. When did that happen? How interesting that my insides do not seem to age at the same rate as what the calendar shows. As my skin may show. As my body reminds me of its various aches and pains that seem to come out of nowhere. 

I am grateful for this body. It has, and continues to, serve me well. It is the vessel through which I experience life on this earth. It is how I feel the sun, the rain, the wind. Feel the connection to other beings. Feel touch, although not as much these days. I miss that.

 It’s ok to miss touch. It’s part of being human. I can feel the ache, but it doesn’t consume me. That’s one of the benefits of experience…knowing that I can feel whatever the current feeling inside me is, and not be afraid that I will be destroyed by it. It will pass. 

I find that I question more which activities to commit my time to. I need to leave space for that which feels precious and nurturing, even if I don’t know what will fill that space. I need to let go of what doesn’t nurture me so that there is room for what does. A leap of faith, learning to become more comfortable with the empty spaces and the in-between times.

I am letting go of things, possessions, items. Wanting to give them to others who may appreciate and enjoy them. I seem to be lightening the load for my final departure.

Sometimes I wander around my house and feel a bit separate from it all. These possessions, these walls, this place that offers me sanctuary that I know I will leave at some point. That others will live in and make their own. Change it, rearrange it, make it their new temporary shell, like the hermit crab. Until they outgrow it.

I have been to a few estate sales. These are some of the saddest experiences that I have had. Walking through someone’s house, touching their possessions that are now for sale, seeing pieces of the life that they lived and who they might have been, now for sale to be emptied out for the next temporary resident. Soon forgotten. I stop and talk with the spirit of the person who died, whose home I am now walking through, trying to connect with them. Will anyone remember them? Does it matter?

I feel lonely and alone. But it is not a loneliness that can be filled by other people. Sometimes being in nature can help ease the ache. Sometimes being around other beings, as in the 4-legged variety, can help. Wordless companionship that goes beyond and beneath words. 

I feel a different kind of quiet at this time of the morning. A deeper quiet if you will. A realization of how each of us must face the final leg of our journey alone. We may have others around to help send us off, but we each have our own ticket. A solo one-way ticket.

 I am afraid. It’s normal to be afraid of the unknown. I have never been very good at endings. And this is the big one that I am coming to face more and more each day, each year. It’s ok to feel the fear.

I wonder about meaning and purpose. I wonder about whether I have expressed enough of who I am, who I was meant to be. I am more in touch with that since I retired, now being able to write and paint, both of which I love to do. Then I look around at the paintings, wondering what will become of them. Will they be thrown out?

This sadness is hard to feel. This ache is deep. My questions remain unanswered. 

And it’s part of the journey, part of this life. 

So maybe I’ll go make myself another cup of coffee and get ready for this day. I will go to my volunteer shift at the zoo today, thankfully, and spend time being with the beings there. And be grateful to be among them.

I will work on a sketch that I began the other day. It feels good to be working on art again, as I have not felt like doing that for a while. It’s not something that I can force. 

I will keep writing, both to offer for others to read, and for my own private journal to simply hear my own voice and give it space to be. 

I will keep living, keep being with friends, keep breathing, keep walking among the redwoods. Keep being grateful for life, including the sadness. It’s a feeling, after all, and feelings are some of the gifts of being human. Why would I deny myself any of the full range of that experience? Sadness helps me appreciate things more sometimes, including moments of joy and laughter. We can’t have one without the other. Same coin, different sides. 

There is time enough for deadness when are no longer here. Until then, I want to feel it all, and appreciate it all.

But sometimes it’s hard to wake up at 3am.