There are some sure good things like chocolate cake, the smell of the salty ocean, setting up a 401K, a mother’s gentle love and comfort. These delicacies and cornerstones seem to make up for the parts of life that are not as certain to us, somewhat arbitrary and inconclusive — or in limbo. Being in limbo is a hard place to be, yet part of being human requires us to navigate, recalibrate and manage the different stages of life not quite going the way we had planned.
I’ve decided that a lot of the heat from indecision can be quelled by the process of talk therapy and a reminder that the agitation and tension arise to inform us of our body’s wisdom. Emotion, or energy in motion, points to our need for flow and forward movement. Yet, there are those days or weeks that drift by without so much as an inch of progress. The body responds with a hard, wake up call — sometimes at 3 in the morning when you feel cold to your bones and can’t explain why.
The night I woke up at 3 in the morning was unusual — I had trained myself to get up with the sun, not at the ungodly witch’s hour. My body seemed to nudge me awake as if it were tired of putting up with a discomfort manifested as cold. I run cold, therefore it is plausible that it was just a colder night. I had skipped dinner that night on account of having an upset stomach, and later in the evening reached for a cacao “nice” cream made by Tim while watching “Sister Act”. Remembering an old friend’s advice to put a solid meal into your stomach before bed when you’re camping, I thought that must be it. Something was off. I literally couldn’t shake off the cold, snuggling into Tim for body heat. He was not amused, and laid his arm on top of me for a moment before retreating back into his solidarity. Panic started to settle in. It was probably 4 in the morning now as I tried to lay still in bed and not make a peep in the barren night. The neighbors would hear, and Tim and I were not happy with their level of noise so by double standard, we had to reinforce our own hush and repose.
Sometime between freezing and freezing while panicking, I decided to get out of bed to make a hot water bottle. I was miserable and still shocked at how alarmingly cold it felt in my body. My core temperature had dropped and left the building, with little to no plan to return. I was bare and on my own here.
Creeping out into a house when the rest of the world sleeping elicits a feeling of displacement. I should be back in the warm bed with covers drawn up to my nose. Instead, I’m tiptoeing out into the kitchen to put the kettle on. What am I thinking? Why am I so darn cold? What is going on?
I need socks and a hoodie, I decided. Since heat escapes on either end of me, I’ll insulate and then I’ll go back to bed with a warm bottle. Determined, I slip back into the bedroom to rummage through my socks. Is that a glove? Or my yoga bra? I’m holding my breath anticipating the feeling of my soft, fuzzy socks. The ones that I rely on in these cold, winter mornings. My comfort socks. I must have them now. Tim stirs awake, and I am altogether filled with grief, defense and desperation. Now, I’ve even woken him up and I still can’t find my socks. I wish I had known in that moment to take a deep breath but maybe that wouldn’t even have helped because what came out as a response to him when he whispered I was being loud was words in the form of a growl and hiss. I almost stomped out of the room after that, as if hell had officially broken loose and I was marching to its beat.
Still cold, and now remorseful, I go back into the kitchen and stand hovering in front of the stove top. I am a shitty human being. Bleary-eyed and sullen, I finally give up on the idea of going back to sleep. There’s a vegan chocolate cup cake sitting on the kitchen island that I devour as soon as I have waved my white flag. Savoring it seems like the best thing at this hour and mood. The sweetness of the creme and bitterness of the chocolate, softness of the cake, and I’m swoon. We all can add a little sweetness to moments of our lives.
It’s true that we must practice self-control with a thing like sugar. It has long-lasting and addictive effects on our mental and physical health. I imagine a manic and wild animal when I think of how sugar wreaks havoc on my body.
A little sugar can be nice. Something I have learned from Korean food cooking. A little sugar can soften the blow. Life can deliver bitter news at times. A little sugar sweetens the deal. It’s as sure as anything that part of the human experience is wrapped in sugar treats during the holidays and the fondest memories by association.
That night, however unexplainable and grumpy I was, lent itself over to me as an indescribable moment. I made a deal with that myself that night, in the misery of my own company, that I would not be so callous. But that I would first and foremost tend to the tame-able parts of me in the wake and survival of my fear. That I would train my mind to recognize when I am merely a wounded child-like version that needs a moment of compassion and care.
When the bitter cold strikes you hard, whether it’s part of the winter or life’s merciless hand, there is sweetness on the other side. Look for the icing on the cake, the silver lining, a moment that softens and brings you grace after you’ve hardened up from a troubled night. You will find that little bit of allowance can be the tender love we need in those moments.
