Sleeping naked in Halifax

I slept naked last night. I can’t remember the last time I slept naked.

I’m not sure what compelled me. Even at home, I sleep in shorts usually, although sleeping naked would be no big deal. Sleeping naked makes me think of being 16. I was a repressed Mormon teen then who tried so hard to obey all the rules by the letter. And sleeping naked then felt like a little act of rebellion, like I was doing something wrong without actually breaking a rule, like I could get caught and in trouble, but the door was locked so I wouldn’t be.

I felt the need to just feel the sheets against my skin. I’m staying in Halifax in a little Airbnb apartment on the waterfront. There is no air-conditioning, so I opened all of the windows and let the ocean breeze blow in. It blustered against my sheets and restored me, somehow.

I slept strangely. I went to bed at 2 am (which is 11 back home) and woke up at 9 am (which is 6 back home), so it was my normal sleeping schedule but it felt different. My body was sore from the long plane ride and the four mile walk I went on last night. My back ached, my hips hurt. All of that was normal as well, but it was mixed with the ocean breeze.

I woke to the sound of gulls. I woke smiling.

After coffee and eggs and cheese, I took a long walk along the water front. Last night, I felt guilt ridden and self-sham-ey. Today, I feel at peace. My mind is revisiting the goals I set years ago, all of which I achieved (well, almost all) and I took a moment to commune with the Chad that existed in 2014, the one who would have looked forward to my life now wand been so hopeful and happy. So I let him speak through me, and I leaned into hopeful and happy, and it felt wonderful.

I watched a tugboat with a cartoon face on the front chug by. I looked at art that has been set on the docks by the ocean. I petted big fluffy dogs, with their owner’s consent. There were several street musicians out, like the kind you see at Farmer’s Markets, except all of them very, very Canadian. One man intensely played the electric guitar, with his teeth clenched and his eyes in a permanent wince, wearing a t-shirt and jeans that were several sizes too large. A woman in a wheelchair played a normal radio at her feet while adding percussion to the songs with finger cymbals. A handsome college student strummed a harp.

I looked at the small sea of people moving around me, of every shade. Chubby folks in camouflage, a Japanese family, a couple with dark skin wearing turbans and embracing, an interracial elderly couple cuddled up on a bench, two dads with kids… and I realized that everyone was smiling. And still the breeze blew.

A little farther down the docks, there was an actual Farmer’s Market. Fresh blueberries, golden beets, juicy pears, hand-knit stuffed animals, homemade soaps, bottled wine, glazed donuts. I sat and just watched, and it felt like perfection.

I’ve been hard on myself lately. Instead of doing things I love because I love them, I’ve been doing things I love and expecting a particular kind of result, and then feeling so frustrated when those results haven’t panned out at my expectation levels.

I’m telling stories every month that I’m so proud of, and interfacing with an incredible community of writers and storytellers. I’m out of debt and, while not wealthy, doing well enough to travel regularly. I wrote a book! I made a movie that is nearly completed (the editing phase is intense!) I have a handsome and loving partner at my side. I’ve cultivated friendships that will last a lifetime. My children are happy and well.

I have so much to be thankful for. And yet I’ve been so frustrated with myself for not doing more, having more, being more.

And perhaps that is the lesson I need to take from Halifax this week. I can keep working on goals, but I have to spend more time finding gratitude. Challenge can be met with comfort, ambition with a quiet heart, endeavors with patience.

I think I’ll sleep naked again tonight.

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