In the summer, I prefer sleeping with the windows open. In part, it’s because of the gentle and regular step-down into cooler nighttime that is the norm in summer Saskatchewan, the dry air and oft-cloudless wide open sky wicking the heat up from the ground, the air cooling rapidly.
The other thing that I enjoy is the noises. The noises are a pleasant diversion, a break from the sometimes endless spinning wheel that is my brain in the darkness.
I wake up around 3 a.m. pretty regularly, head to the bathroom and back, and then lie in the city semi-dark, the streetlights fingering in around the curtain edges. I lie on my back or on one side, wait for sleep to tickle back, and try hard (and fail) not to think about anything. Just don’t think, I think.
I try not to think about the job or family or the upcoming move, about the fortunes and battles of our kids (all adults now), about the things they’ve faced and fought, and the about things they have yet to face that you can’t even begin to explain.
As I write this, I’m in Winnipeg, staying at the centre of the city, Portage and Main, and at night, the fire trucks singing their great panjandrum chorus as they careen down the concrete canyons at the city core, and you’d think that noise would be an irritation, scraping into your sleep. For me, it’s a sign that the order of things still holds. The night seekers are shuffling through the neighbourhood, opening the metal garbage cans to search for food or goods, and then slap them closed again with a sharp clang of frustration when they come up empty handed.
Sometimes, raised voices, too far away and indistinct to be understandable. Sometimes, the staccato of the late-night heavy motorcycle, a vehicle I am sure only drives in the downtown city core at night to hear the blatting echo of its own mechanical voice.
The less sound there is, the easier it is to wonder what you just heard. Lying awake with a torrent of thoughts running though your head, a sudden small sound can be, if not misconstrued, at least not completely construed. Bear with me: a small sound at the edge of your understanding is so much more discomfiting than a sackful of regular sounds that are instantly familiar.
Give me the whole collection: the cars and trucks at the stop sign, the shift wheeze of the starting furnace, the stepping rumble of a distant freight train, even the growing, and then shrinking, sound of a siren that approaches and then passes. That collection is far more soothing, far more likely to direct me towards sleep, than a quiet knock somewhere close by, once, and then never repeated.
I seem to be sleeping less as I get older, and needing it less as well. Sometimes, I clearly need it less in the middle of the night, between three and five a.m.,, and sometimes, I can simply lie in the dark, watching occasional headlights play across the curtain, and be happy and comfortable in my warm night nest.
Sometimes, I don’t even need noises to provide distractions and help divert the racetrack of thoughts. I wish it was that way for more nights.
It is, I think, a skill well worth developing.
Great article. Thanks
Thank you for this gorgeous soundscape. Your blatting motorcycle and the great panjandrum chorus will stay in my aural memory.