I haven’t been sleeping well. I wake up in the middle of the night, my mind racing about something, usually some issue at work.
Recently, I woke up to an image of my head hollowed out and full of balloons, one for parenting, one for my relationship with Sara, one for Kindling, one for exercise, and so on. I watched myself blowing more and more air into the “work” balloon. I felt the others getting pressed to the edges, shrinking, contorting. I felt the pressure building.
In the short term, I want to let some of that air out. Maybe then I can sleep a bit better.
But in the long term, what I really want is space not filled by balloons at all, gaps for each to bounce around freely, emptiness in which I can just be, and out of which someday something new can emerge.