For 17 years now my husband has read me a bedtime story. He thought everyone needed a bedtime story and to this day I can’t find a reason to disagree. We even took a book along on a camping trip to Inuvik, NWT. It was June in the Canadian north and natural light was abundant so a bedtime read was easy.
We’ve gone though many, many books over the years. We’re just in the home stretch of finishing Manda Scott’s quadrology on Boudica, England’s warrior Queen. Next is the final installment of Harry Potter.
He switched jobs recently from running a small health food store to driving a truck. Days are long and he is usually very tired. He’s up early and therefore has to go to bed early.
The fun in the mix is my circadian rhythms have altered a wee bit. I get a minor energy surge right in mid-evening. Right around the time he needs to sleep I feel like writing.
I have a choice: write or spend time with my husband.
If I absolutely must write I can scribble out a few notes and attend to them in the morning. I can get up after the story and write if need be. Certainly there are those moments when I feel I should just get the writing done. I can always have the story tomorrow night.
Well, maybe. But the day will come when I won’t have that option.
What it comes down to is how would I rather spend my time and which would I regret later?
The only thing that matters in life is how we treat people, ourselves included. Work and money and gaining more stuff are secondary. Yes, work is important. If I didn’t think my writing was important I wouldn’t be doing it. Certainly it’s important to me.
But stack it up against time with my husband and a bedtime story? No. That’s just not a real choice.
Story time is sacred. It’s time together and it adds to our quality of life. It’s relaxing and helps us both sleep.
And who would turn down a bedtime story?
Not me. Especially now that the Boudica is about to boot Rome out of Britain and Harry Potter is waiting in the wings.
1 hour ago