Our bodies hold on to the past. Flying west, we lengthen our day, a step ahead of the sun. We're tired, but still wake early, because our body has not been fooled. It knows that the day is already well begun in the place we just left.
Flying east, we overtake the sunrise, changing night into day. Tired is such a pallid word. Now sleep seduces, a dark lover that swoops in without warning if we sit still too long. We try to fight him off, but our own bodies betray us. They cling to the night, no matter how bright the day. We struggle to shed our dreams, squint through the fuzzy darkness that blankets us even at noon on a sunny spring day. Life takes on a sense of unreality; daytime is something to survive until the comforting darkness lets us finally surrender to sleep.
Our bodies cling to the past. They don't appreciate the modern "convenience" of air travel. They know we are not made to race the sun.
1 comment:
Nice post! Your second paragraph would serve well as a description of an insomniac's day, too.
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