As I lay here in the early hours of the morning, I take a deep, calculated breath, close my eyes, and let my body feel.
There’s something special about the muted hours of the morning when the sun hasn’t risen yet, the birds aren’t quite ready to sing, and life has a gentle, quietness about it.
Before the chaos of the day – before the coffee stream, the clanging dishes, the yawns of the children, and the swiftly moving train that seems to be my life, there is a stillness.
It’s a time to reflect, a time to create, a time to listen, a time to be.
And what do I feel?
Some mornings, I feel the depths and passion that exist in my soul. I see magic and beauty in the world around me. I see the ripples of many souls living together, creating an existence that they hope will someday be harmonious.
Other days, I feel deep, overwhelming sadness – a sadness that seems to come from nowhere but lies like a blanket over the already muted morning. It’s a reflective sadness, a sadness that shows me the stark reality of where I am now compared to the ideals of who I thought I would be, how I thought I would live, and the impact of the mistakes I wittingly or unwittingly make.
I don’t like this sadness. I’d rather feel the hope of a fresh new day, the excitement of possibility, and the peace of knowing I lived to see another day; I lived to watch the sun rise once again and feel its warmth caress my cheek.
I’m a long believer that much of life’s beauty is found in the brief moments that slip through in the middle of the chaos. I can see them both – the chaos and the stillness. Like yin and yang, they exist together, creating a challenging, enriching fabric to this thing we call life.
Today, my morning showed me it’s a good day to be present, to slow down, the listen to the stillness and reign in the chaos.
Today is a day to be.