One Night Under the Trees
I don't usually talk about the nights that get rough, but this one stuck with me. A few weeks ago, work slowed down and money got tight. I ended up taking my blanket to one of the parks by the lakefront in Cleveland and making a place for myself under the trees.
I told myself it was just one night. I kept my radio low, listened for a bit, and tried not to make it bigger in my head than it already was. The ground was hard, and the wind coming off the water had a sharp edge to it. Every time I almost fell asleep, something would pull me back awake.
Still, there was a kind of quiet there too. No one rushed me. No one expected me to be anywhere for a while. I let myself sing under my breath, just enough to feel like I was still me. Sometimes a person needs even that little bit of normal to keep from unraveling.
Morning Changes Things
Morning came slow, but it did come. The light through the trees looked different, softer somehow, and the birds started moving around like the cold had not bothered them at all. I watched them for a while and let my shoulders come down a little.
I think people who have never been outside overnight imagine it as one long panic. For me, it was more about endurance. You find small things to hold onto. The sound of the waves. The feel of your own hands. The idea that you can still wash your face, fix your hair, and go to work like the night did not take something from you.
That morning, I decided not to hate the place for being hard. It gave me birds. It gave me a little radio music. It gave me proof that I can stay steady when things are not steady.
What I Keep With Me
I am not romanticizing it. Sleeping outside is not something I would choose if I had another way. But I do think there is something in how you meet a night like that. You can let it make you bitter, or you can look for the pieces that keep you human.
I looked for the pieces.
I kept my routine as close to normal as I could. I paid attention to the water, the birds, and the small sounds around me. I did not rush myself into pretending I was fine when I was not, but I also did not let myself fall apart over things I could not fix yet.
If I could say one thing to someone going through something like this, it would be this: protect your dignity in the small ways you can. Keep a song. Keep a habit. Keep your eyes open for something gentle, even if it is just a bird in the morning.
That night was hard. But I made it through, and I did not lose myself in it. :)