“…how one orients himself to the moment depends the failure or fruitfulness of it.”

—Henry Miller

Hey Y’all,

One of my superpowers (besides being funny) is that I am a great sleeper. At any moment, I can decide to sleep, and within minutes (sometimes seconds), I am sound asleep, undisturbed by anything. When I was 19, I went to see U2 in Washington, D.C. (Don’t judge me. It was the early 90s). Primus was the opening band. I slept through it. My friend had to wake me up so I didn’t miss the main show.

After an incredibly difficult and turbulent week, I went to bed last night and tossed and turned. And tossed and turned. And tossed and turned.

By 2 am, I had convinced myself I was having a heart attack. Should I go to the hospital? Is my left arm numb? Tingling? I got up and took an aspirin just in case. However, after the week I had, the thought of dying didn’t seem so bad. But I can’t leave my parents. They need me. I love them. If you are a human being, you’ve probably had a night or two like this at some point.

I grabbed my phone and opened Instagram to watch reels of people falling, Taylor Swift being herself (yes, I’m a Swiftie), and Anthony Varela reading signs with misspelled words (omg hysterical). I just needed an escape. After a couple hours of doom scrolling and eating cheese balls, I thought about Wendy, a.k.a. Pema Chodron. (In my mind, I call her Wendy. I mean, is it Pima? Peeema? Chodren? Chodron? Chodrun? Wendy makes me laugh and makes her more relatable). I’ve read most of her books, including *The Wisdom of No Escape.* Last night, however, I was like I don’t f*****g care. I just want to escape. I need a break from all the seriousness and anxiety.

4 am.

After learning all about Taylor’s cats and listening to every musician sing the “Sitting Is the Opposite of Standing” song, I put my phone down. I placed one hand on my heart and one hand on my belly. My breathing instantly slowed down. I asked myself three questions: What needs to soften? Everything. My entire body was full of tension. What are you feeling? Anger. Frustration. Confusion. Disappointment. Fear. What are you really feeling? Grief. So often, it’s grief.

I’m losing my parents. I’m watching their physical and mental health deteriorate right in front of me. Daily. Then I remember that everything deteriorates and dies. Everything in the universe. Even the sun will one day exhaust itself and be gone. Someday, I won’t be here. I’m comforted by this. Then I ask myself again, what needs to soften? I take a deep breath, and at the end of the exhale comes a big, ugly cry. I put my head into the pillow and sobbed.

I don’t remember falling asleep.

I woke up to the sound of my mom and dad laughing. I was alive. I felt grateful to be here and had a renewed appreciation for my parents. It was time for coffee.

The worst is yet to come.

Thank you so much for reading what I write, for the beautiful, messy, paradoxical, creative, and brilliant being you are, and for being on this great pilgrimage of life—individually and collectively. We are all in this together.

Love in all its forms,

Roger

P.S. Turns out, there is great wisdom in not escaping.