With Childlike Eyes

In the past eight hours, I've had some of the greatest experiences of the past months.

I walked five miles, not because I had somewhere to be, but because I wanted to.

I listened to five different versions of the same song because I wanted to know what held constant, what the artist was actually feeling and trying to convey.

I stayed up all night, drinking coffee and reading a book from start to finish, simply because I was curious. Unlike all those nights when I cursed myself as I sat at my desk, hating my lamp's dim glow, failing to fully grasp a work because it was just another assignment that I had pushed off far too long, I felt this book, and when my mind wandered, I reread the passage, sometimes three times, to be sure that I was taking in every word.

I went outside to watch the coming sunrise creep across the sky -- not the brilliant, picturesque orange and pink sunrise that adorns postcards, but rather the gradual fade from deep blue night sky to light blue morning and every shade in between. And I watched the dancing of stars' light as it battled against the coming sunlight, trying to maintain dominance for just a moment longer, wondering whether the light was actually still visible or just some figment of my imagination. I watched as clouds made their presence known, with the help of the sunlight that had previously left them vulnerable to being engulfed by the anonymity of the night.

And as my stomach turned, reminding me that all of this was probably the mere product of too much coffee and the resulting caffeine high, I didn't care. It was nothing that water and a few antacids couldn't solve.

Then, I looked at the clock, knowing that in a few hours I'll be at work -- not because I'm getting paid (because I'm not), and not because it's glamorous (because it's not), but because it's good work, and there's a chance I'll make a difference for someone.

So tonight my bed stayed empty, the sheets still rumpled from last night's restless sleep, and I know that I won't make the bed today. I may not even sleep tonight. But if I could repeat this night's events and sense of wonder every night, I would gladly choose to never revisit my bed.