I’m not quite a morning person. I can get up with an alarm and don’t need coffee (don’t plan to touch the stuff), but I can only remember exactly one day where I woke up feeling properly rested. Dragging myself out of bed is worth it, though. While the tedium of a shift is fast approaching, there’s a peace to the hour prior that keeps despair away.
Dawn has an energy of presence to it. Not everyone is up and about yet: only wildlife like birds and the occasional unflappable deer. The sky is always young; whether the stars are in their last act in winter, the horizon is a pastel gradient around equinox, or the sun is well on its way in summer, I feel a vastness. Nothing has yet happened to color one’s perception of the day, and ultimately, nothing will happen. The universe keeps moving, and if I can’t keep moving with it, that’s my problem. As I step out to my car, I often take a moment. I may admire how the ice and snow formed that night or wonder at the moon still bright. I only need to shape my life so I can start taking as long as I want, with no nonnegotiable, arbitrary schedule to follow.
At work today, I was lucky enough to step outside for one of my tasks. It was only around 9. While the nearby highway was already in full swing, the lot still had a hush. As I looked up at the open sky and felt the breeze of winter’s end, I recognized that this was what I want. No fabricated box cutting me off from the world, and the freedom to stop and be without fear of others’ expectations.
