Alarms, No More

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“Don’t worry about me, I’ll meet you for breakfast at nine,” la Jefa told Primita and me before heading to her hotel room. “Do you want us to ask the front desk to schedule a wake up call?”

“No. Please don’t. I don’t use an alarm.”

Prima and I looked at each other, eyes wide, inquisitive, like how could anyone just wake up when it’s time? As graduate school mentees our advisor, wise elder, often did or said things that were so very much her. Things that we didn’t always get, ways of being that felt incongruous to our forced Type A, over-scheduled and over-committed lives as doctoral students.

“But how will you know when it’s time to wake up?” One of us asked.

“I’ll just know,” she replied calmly and with a chuckle. As if we were the ones that were the weirdos forcing our bodies awake with blaring sounds that startle one out of slumber.

Just five years ago I would have been blaring myself out of bed with a horn of some sort emanating from the pocket computer that serves too many functions. Part virtual assistant, scheduler, phone line, email server, you name it, that thing would keep me moving at a pace that was often untenable. But I like mornings, and I enjoy watching the sunrise. At five am I would have just enough time to roll out of bed, ears still ringing from the sounds of “crystals” a jingle that cycles over and over until the groan, roll, and moan toward the sounds, hand fumbling in the dark finally finding the correct button to hit. Ears still ringing, heart beat fast, I would pop up, get dressed, do the couple of things for the body I had time to, before running to the kitchen packing up my food for the day and throwing my bags into the car. A seamless choreography heading to the yoga studio for a six am class. This kind of dance goes well each time except for the times when it doesn’t. When the coffee maker forgot to start on its timer. Or when it snowed the night before and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to make it off the nearly one mile long dirt driveway to the unplowed county roads. Or, when you can’t find that thing you knew you’d forget if you didn’t pack it the night before. Valuable minutes just disappearing so quickly, as if they were never really yours. Gifts to the universe never to be seen again.

Even writing this past version of myself tires me. It makes me sad for how hard I ran this creature of a body. Never stopping to listen if it was tired. Pushing through. Making do, a constant refrain of “I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” the mantra of my life. These days if I set an alarm during the winter months, I use my sunrise alarm. That gives me a gentle glow of light that is meant to trigger the circadian cycles mammals like us need to sleep and wake. It’s particularly helpful because I like to rise with the sun, and in the winters of my northern latitude sunrise doesn’t come until much past five, or even six am. After forty-five minutes of the light cycle, gentle gongs of a singing bowl wake me. Quietly at first, gaining volume with each hit of the reverberating metal. An ancient reminder of the end of my sleeping meditation. This is a much more pleasant experience of waking, one that does not send my nervous system into panic first thing in the morning. And after using this style of alarm to signal the start of my day I began to think La Jefa was on to something. Who needs an alarm?

And who needs this wild pace of life that forces me to rise before my body would like? Granted, I know this is coming from a place of extreme privilege, I often have no where to be at a certain time. But in this case, perhaps it’s all the much more reason for me to purposefully build spaciousness into my life. I do not wish to be “alarmed.” My anxious tendencies already poise me to be on edge; why alarm myself even further? On purpose? Every once in a while I do need to wake up early to be some where, though I’m not confident enough in my time-bending skills that I will wake myself up in time to give myself the precious gift of my morning routines. I am recognizing now that I do routinely wake before the alarm, especially if the real sun is cresting the horizon. But, to simply wake when I want to wake, without the stress and worry of oversleeping, requires a faith I have not yet been able to access.

I’m recognizing that all of these thoughts about my sleeping and waking times are really a desire for acceptance around slowness. Our dominant US/Western culture is not one that really values slowness. I’ve yet to learn about any race that is about the last person to cross the finish line. Growth, and expansion as a major tenet of capitalism is all about speed. Expectations for investors and shareholders involve a long game, but longevity is measured by how quickly ones books can be in the black, how quickly profit margins gain on expenses. Normative notions of family formations for women are often marry before you’re too old, don’t take too much time before deciding to have children or that biological clock will stop ticking for you. There is no virtue in slowness, in spaciousness, in honoring (trusting) how long it takes to do something in the time it takes. I’m realizing now that a utopic vision for me, is a world with no alarm clocks. Wouldn’t it be grand if we could all be on our natural rhythms? Wouldn’t it be beautiful for everyone to have the time and space needed to accomplish what it was they were working on at any give time?

All this freedom and spaciousness though can feel scary especially in a world where one has never been gifted such time. And still, I keep thinking about how we would never tell a tree it wasn’t producing leaves fast enough. Or measure blades of grass and tell them to go faster. We wouldn’t punish Chickadee for not chirping right at the sun’s rise. We don’t tell the birds they’re late or early to the feeder. Though I do suppose the “early bird gets the worm,” probably haunts that one Robin who was simply minding their own business pecking a freshly wet ground for a worm’s wriggle on their own time and now have to carry the burden of being the first one across the proverbial finish line. Poor Robin - already with so much of the burden of being the harbinger of a Minnesota spring.

I’m making these lists with the nature I’m most directly acquainted with at this time because I’m looking for permission for myself to give up these notions of speed as the only marker of my accomplishments. Even accomplishments doesn’t feel right, I don’t want to be a lady of leisure with a litany of accomplishments (which if you don’t know, is where that word comes from - young women of a certain class with nothing to do but accomplish crafts and arts and music for theirs and others’ entertainment). I want my actions to be filled with the simplicity of being for me at the right time. To follow my desires like the deer that gallop across the pond in the morning. I never see them consulting a map of the terrain, they are simply creating their paths through the woods with the confidence that they are allowed to do so. I so want to be allowed to do the same. I long for the day when I give myself permission to act as if slowness and spaciousness are virtues in my life. To measure time with something other than a clock. To give up the alarms. I’m finding it in moments here and there. When I’m in the flow state on a painting, or when I’m slowly making stitches through fabric, enjoying the feel of a needle going through layers and the tug of the thread moving on its own path through other fibers. I am starting to recognize that one needs a level of spaciousness to be able to pay attention to what delights you. To find the room to hold the awe you might feel under the stars on a cold winter’s night in the country for the entire day instead of just when your eyes adjust to the darkness.

No one tells Turtle she’s been asleep too long in these cold winter nights. I’m going to try to be more like Turtle and release this ridiculous guilt I carry like a shell on my back. I am trying to tell myself the same thing I tell others and believe it for me too. I’m chuckling as I write this, because I’m seeing now that this is a slow process. Not something I can be faster at, but rather reshaping my guilt into something that better serves me will take the time it takes. I’ve been waiting for an alarm to tell me that it’s done, that I‘ve accomplished, that I can move on to the next thing. Perhaps when the ground thaws I will have more acceptance by then. But I won’t rush. I am trying not to use an alarm.

What I’m Reading

Light from Uncommon Stars by Ryka Aoki

What an enthralling, captivating tale this book is for the reader (listener). A book I wanted to keep coming back to, centers on the lives of three women, a violinist who sold her soul to the devil, an alien captain masquerading as a donut shop owner, and a young runaway aspiring musician. You wouldn’t think that all three of these things could work, but the story ends up being this beautiful tale of acceptance and love and chosen family with the absolute most decadent language around the playing of music. The descriptions of violins and the sounds they make, and the relationship between instrument and player made me want to play the violin. Gentle reader I can punch out some keys on a piano (also always wanted to learn), I strum made up diddies on my banjo Vaimo gifted me, but never had I even so much as flirted with the idea of running a bow across the strings of a violin until this book made it sound so deeply pleasurable. Anyways, there are so many unexpected pleasures in this book, if you’re up for the weird concept you will be rewarded by the writing and the story.

Artist Offerings

I keep getting signs from the universe that I need to learn how to knit, this article that crossed my social media was another (the third sign of this year) that this my path. The Revolutionary Power of a Skein of Yarn maybe you do too?

Creative Ritual

February first marks the official start of my trial lease with Calendula Gallery for at least the next four months in St. Paul, Minnesota. The gallery is open on weekends and is made up of a ton of different artists’ work for you to pursue and support through your role as collector, check it out, I'm official! They are also hosting events and happenings for folks looking for an in-person art experience! I am also happy (lol) to report that I received my first official rejection - I’d submitted a painting for a virtual exhibition consideration and it was not chosen by the jury. I’m shooting for another ten rejections for this calendar year so I’m off to a great start! I submitted an application for a virtual residency, and started on another fellowship application. Since I last wrote, I also made significant progress on a painting that I took a new approach to, painting without a map/plan - which has been a wild experience I’m not sure what I think yet. But the good news is, I am experimenting and making progress on some of the creative goals I have made for myself this year and things are moving.

Questions to ponder

What other ways might you measure time?
How can you create more spaciousness in your life?
Where might you need to slow?
Are there alarms you can get rid of?

Thanks for journeying with me. I hope, as always, that you take what you need and leave the rest for someone else, or for another time. 

-KCF

PS: If you would like the join the countless others who have provided a one-time (once or multiple times) contribution for the labor behind this project please feel free to do so here. Or! Join one of the eight dedicated people who generously provide monthly support in any amount to help keep my creative time sacred. Either way, I'm glad you're here.