It's early, 4:30 a.m. I can't sleep, so I decide to start my day since it's not that much earlier than my usual wake time. I slept well, despite waking around 3, which is not at all unusual for me. My mid-life night sweats have long conditioned me to a familiarity with the darkest hours of the night. I normally lie awake, eyes often wide open and staring into the fathomless darkness, my mind relentlessly going over things - things I am worried about (a long list) or things I want to get done when daylight arrives. But today I am up and making a cup of green tea under the soft glow of a string of lights in the kitchen, intending to continue reading a book I started yesterday (this book is introspective, quiet, and so lovely) but ultimately letting these words tumble out here instead.
The early morning silence is delicious. The clean slate and brand-newness of the day spreads out in front of me. I take this time to pause and ponder what the day can be, what I have the power to make of it. How can I do better than I did yesterday, or last week? Seeing my parents every day is a reminder that these days are not to be wasted. Time is a precious gift. How will I use it?
The early morning silence is delicious. The clean slate and brand-newness of the day spreads out in front of me. I take this time to pause and ponder what the day can be, what I have the power to make of it. How can I do better than I did yesterday, or last week? Seeing my parents every day is a reminder that these days are not to be wasted. Time is a precious gift. How will I use it?
"How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perhaps twenty. And yet it all seems limitless." - Paul Bowles, The Sheltering Sky