BY TOMMY HOUSWORTH
Every morning, the Dalai Lama gets up at 3:30 a.m. to begin a rigorous, hours-long meditation practice before his breakfast. I also wake at 3:30 these days, though not intentionally. My body clock seems to have decided that, regardless of whether I’ve taken melatonin or Tylenol PM, whether I had a day of sloth or exertion, 3:30 is a good time for my brain to strike up its own little circuitous symphony, punctuated by a sonata of anxiety, a minuet of fret, and, inevitably, an encore of existential dread.
No single issue holds me hostage; instead, it’s insomnia by a thousand paper cuts, my mind bouncing like a pinball from lever to lever, thoughts careening in new distressed directions with each strike. After such a night, on some days I can muscle through with coffee and the sonic fuel of a good jazz, punk, or hip-hop playlist. Other days, I surrender and squeeze in a power nap between Zoom calls and writing deadlines.
The best recourse, of course, would be to resolve this nagging issue. But one of the worst things I can do during these unwelcome wakeups, I’ve learned, is to treat them as, well…unwelcome. If pain is inevitable but suffering is optional, the way I meet the pain of insomnia by trying to force myself back into slumber is the essence of suffering. I lie there telling myself, “I need to sleep more! Tomorrow is going to be so hard if I don’t. I can’t keep doing this! What’s wrong with me?” These maddening little mantras only serve to further agitate and awaken me.
So now, when I wake up in the wee hours, I try to practice waking up “on the spot” as well. Pema Chodron uses the term “waking up on the spot” metaphorically, not literally. It’s the practice of simply noticing we are distracted or spiraling, opting to drop our storylines and be present in this moment, experiencing it fully. Easier said than done, since we tend to appreciate “waking up” moments most when gazing over the ocean, slow dancing with someone we love, or tasting the finest sip of coffee or wine; waking up on the spot is a different piece of business when we’re facing fear, wrestling with grief, or struggling through a difficult conversation.
In these situations, we first have to realize that we’re succumbing to the numbing daze of habit. It’s a different kind of inner insight: “Oh, wow, I’m doing it again.” Such a moment of clarity is a priceless opportunity to notice what carries us away from the experience we’re having. When the temptation to add layers of plot lines and opinions takes hold, we can go from a simple splinter in our finger to an analysis of the full catastrophe of our lives. An unintentional slight from a friend turns into a gothic melodrama, your entire village turns on you and heads your way with torches and pitchforks. Ahh, story lines.
In a good book, we want the story to hook us and never let go. But in real life, biting that hook is rarely desirable. So now when sleeplessness jolts my nervous system, I attempt, as best I can with a drowsy mind, to wake up on the spot. Instead of fighting it, I gently welcome it, noticing what I’m feeling without trying to fix it, but instead simply being with it. I tell myself that whatever it is will be waiting when the sun rises, and I’ll be better equipped to face it rested. Then, instead of letting my attention stay caught in my swirling thoughts, I try to attend to my body: my hands, my feet, my chest, any spot where, with gentle awareness, I can find some solidity. Sometimes, it’s our faithful dog, nestled on the bed with us: just putting my hand on his head brings me back to the here and now: We are safe. We are here. It is now. The bed no longer feels adrift on a sea of tumult, but instead, secure in a harbor of calm abiding.
Ironically, this “waking up on the spot” practice can be easier at 3:30 in the morning, when what I want most is to go back to sleep, than it is at, say, 10 a.m. or 7 p.m., when I’m likely to be dealing with other people – clients, colleagues, loved ones, or strangers – and may be in the midst of a hectic or tense moment and fully in the grip of habitual reactivity. To stop before I speak impulsively, go down an inner emotional rabbit hole, or build some alternate universe in hyperbolic reaction to what is really happening – that’s the real challenge, isn’t it?
It’s said that practice makes perfect. Like the old joke: How do I get to Carnegie Hall? Practice, practice, practice. The Dalai Lama gets up early every day to practice perfecting compassion. Practice and compassion go hand in hand and circumstances don’t limit them, so I’m making constant wakefulness my goal. Practice on the meditation cushion. Practice off the cushion. Practice when working with my own mind. Practice in the presence of others.
I can make my insomnia practice one of compassion for myself. I’m going to keep practicing the act of waking up on the spot, working on not fighting my experience but simply noticing it. It seems the more I notice, the less I get hooked. After all, being awake – truly awake – to any moment of this precious life – even during bouts of sleeplessness – is a good thing. And I don’t even have to get out of bed to do it.
