:
I know there’s a place called sleep. People talk about it like it’s a destination they visit every night. For me, it feels like a place I can never quite find.
Around 11 o’clock, the yawns come. My eyes get heavy. I tell myself, “Maybe tonight.” But sleep never arrives. So after lying there for a while, I eventually give in and get up.
The house is quiet. The world is still. And I just… wander.
I found myself walking through my house this morning, admiring the little projects I’ve poured my heart into over the past few weeks. My walk-in closet. The statement wall in my bedroom. Anthony’s freshly painted room, already imagining how we’re going to transform it into the NBA room he’s been dreaming about.
Then I sat back down at my computer and went back to my book. The writing isn’t the hard part—it’s these stubborn margins and formatting that keep testing my patience—but I’m determined to finish what I started.
The funny thing is, I’m not awake because I’m worried. I’m not stressed. My mind isn’t racing with fear or problems. I’m simply… awake.
Maybe this season isn’t about losing sleep. Maybe it’s about finding purpose in the quiet hours while the rest of the world is dreaming.
And if sleep ever decides to stop by, it’ll find me exactly where I’ve always been—creating, grateful, and still moving forward.