Would You Like to Be Immortal?

I mean, eh?

I’ve seen the vampire movies and read the books — growing old is HARD.

And, frankly, yeah, I get it.

Immortality is seductive.

There’s something about the idea of having unlimited time that makes your brain go, “Ah, finally, maybe then I’ll get through my to-do list.” But also… have you seen what immortality does to people in fiction? All those centuries watching people you love fade, learning (again and again) how to let go, trying to keep up with a world that’s sprinting toward some future you didn’t vote for?

Learning to grow and evolve with the times is ludicrous.

But it’s also necessary.

And exhausting.

But — and this is merely a reflection of where I am right now, clearly — think of all the healing.

The Four A.M. Chronicles

When I wake up in the morning at four, I wonder why I wake up at four.

Yegads, it’s SO early, and I’m quite nauseated.

I’ve been aiming for this for literally over a year because I’m so much more productive in the morning than in the evenings. Actually, in the evenings, depending on my mood, my intrusive thoughts spiral into dark silliness.

Going to bed early cuts that off.

Or, at the very least, it lets my sleeping brain deal with things instead of making my waking brain cope.

It’s a lot.

But four a.m. seems to be Too Early™.

I know, you’re thinking: “Of COURSE four a.m. is Too Early.”

And you’re right. But also, it’s working.

Kind of.

Maybe.

Immortality as a Metaphor for Capacity

Maybe it’s less about wanting to live forever and more about wanting enough time.

Enough time to rest and grow and connect and breathe.

Enough time to take care of my people and still have something left for myself.

Enough time to repair the damage.

To say sorry. To start over. To write a new story.

To remember that it’s not too late.

Immortality is a possibility. Not a promise, but a door.

And four a.m.?

That’s just the hinge creaking open.

Would you want to live forever?

Or do you want more time to live well?