The following is a fiction piece.

July 18, 2019

It was another night where I’d long for an uninterrupted sleep. Day 57 of a never-ending stretch of the 3:12 am wake up. It didn’t matter if it was a full moon, half moon, rainy, or a clear night sky. Precisely at 3:12 a.m. my rest would be disturbed with a wide-eyed energy that was enough to keep me awake but not enough to summon me to action.

I tried some of everything to ensure a restorative night’s sleep. I took a hot shower. Drank warm milk. Listened to soothing music. Tried chamomile tea, melatonin, valerian root, ZZZquil, Lunesta, you name it. It never failed. Despite how deep the sleep was I continued to wake up at 3:12 a.m.

So last night, I dreamt of a black spider slow dancing along a single thread of a black web. Its strut was graceful, elegant. It had a poise that demanded attention and confidence. I stared at it closely. A tiny crown perched atop its head. Its body shimmered as if slicked with an iridescent topcoat of paint. I studied its movements, sauntering back and forth as if rehearsing choreography for some elaborate concert.

It fascinated me. Its careless demeanor and ability to be present in the thing it was doing. It hyper focused. The spider transformed before me, a graceful member of the ballet, twirling and spinning, crafting more layers to its single thread. It wove a tapestry, something so delicate and marveling. It filled the windowpane with its artwork, creative confidence apparent in every spin, turn, and step. It amazed me. It knew only its purpose – not doubt, insecurity, or fear of messing up. It built this stellar piece alone, not to be admired, appreciated, or even acknowledged. It didn’t worry about criticism or feeling inadequate from the opinion of other spiders. It didn’t get distracted. It danced to the beat of its own soundtrack and allowed its gift to flow freely.

The moment I understood the spider, I got a good night’s sleep.