Usually, this spring ahead time change throws me all off. I don’t like the darkness of morning, the late sunrise. I don’t like losing an hour. I bemoan the loss of that hour for at least a week.And often it seems like the pain of the time change drags on for even a couple of weeks. But this year is different.
From the time I changed the clocks on Sunday morning, I could feel it. I didn’t sense the ache of loss. Perhaps it was awakening to sisters and mother sharing time together. Perhaps it was the sunny Sunday morning. Perhaps it was having just slept a full eight hours for the second night running. Yes, you read correctly. EIGHT blissfully peaceful hours of sleep two nights in a row.
That, my friends, is nothing short of exquisite.
And this happened too: I was tired EARLY on Sunday evening. Tired early doesn’t happen for me. Often I find myself searching for sleep hours past an appropriate bedtime. But for some reason on Sunday evening, after we sprung ahead, I was ready for sleep early. Which is counterintuitive to what it should have been.
Monday morning I awoke an hour early rather than the other way around. Working late Monday evening was restorative. It didn’t even feel late. I was energized by the extended hours of light.
Turns out sunrise at 7 and sunset at 7 are working for me.
Today, the second full day after the dreaded time change, I arrived home a little late after work and couldn’t wait to …. exercise. (Yep, you read that right.)
A long walk saw day turning to evening. And now the sun has set and all is quiet. I find myself looking forward to another early evening and to awakening in the dark stillness of morning. Anticipating the calm expectations that precede the rich, and the full and the beautiful world of work and children and school.
And life begins again. Spring.