I’m on a flight to New Orleans for a wedding. Got up this morning at 3:40AM. Cross-country travel from Pacific Standard Time takes no prisoners. I’m tired but not feeling half bad, midway through my decently caffeinated cup of American Airlines coffee.
Just had a realization too.
Previously, if I were on this flight anytime in the past few years, I’d be tired as hell, and dreading how tired I’d feel later in the day. Anticipating the misery. Ask my wife, I’ve been a whiny sack about sleep for years. On the plane today, it finally clicked why.
Today, I don’t care if I’m tired later. It’s going to be fine. I’m doing what I love, seeing people I love, and it’s all worth it. Before, the fatigue wasn’t worth it, because I hated what I was doing most days. I’d be tired, paying the price, for a life I didn’t want—a real suffering multiplier.
But today, I’m just going to be tired. Nothing a hand grenade on Bourbon Street can’t solve.
(P.S. To everyone who sent over words of encouragement or shared their story this week, you helped steel my resolve in the uncertainty. Thank you!)
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