{ the importance of mornings }

i am not a morning person by nature. i was born a nocturne, a siren of the night, quiet by day and wild by dark. i wish i knew what time i was born --- perhaps that would explain it (perhaps i was born at 2:14am, during a storm, to the sound of oboes). i've often wondered if there's a sequence of genetic code that renders us either morning glories or moon flowers, a chromosomal snippet that determines our bent. i could probably look that up, but i'm happy for it to remain unknown for the time being.

i remember not caring i was wearing a dress, i just needed to get out and i needed to run. i stumbled down those stone steps and through the alley, yearning for distance and the cover of trees. there's something soothing about moonlight filtered through leaves, grass rising to receive my feet, the slightest wind calling me forward, forward.

i've known quite a few natural sunrise folk, and even normal people who enjoy waking early to meet the day. i've never understood it but i've always envied it --- the ability to summon the will to rise when gravity pulls so convincingly toward longer rest. for a long time i considered extroverts to be the easy rulers of the world, and i group morning people into the same blessed category. there's something so serene about sitting quietly in a well-lit room, birdsong peppering the otherwise-tranquil air, sipping some artisan beverage while welcoming the possibility of the day.

i remember wanting to get up, but not wanting to wake up. the same motivation that could keep me up inordinately late ---- the fear of missing out on something unforgettable --- paled in the morning light. i pulled the sheet over my shoulder and turned over. for the most part i preferred dreams to reality anyway.

the crack in my nocturnal armor is this: if i have a good reason to wake up insanely early, i'll do it in a heartbeat. (good reasons include, and are not limited to: omelettes, getting on a plane to somewhere, and the chance to see the sun rise over water.) and when i do it, i wonder why i don't more often. there is something magical about the first hours of the day before the world is stirring, before the sounds of cars and commerce dominate my awareness. for once it feels right to be still, to bare my unlacquered face to the sky, to let my soul transact wordlessly with the cosmos.

i remember we drove with either a cascade of words or mesas of silence, skipping stones over the surface of our lives and following the heavier ones until they settled on the bottom of consciousness. the road sped away beneath us as we continued on, suspended and gaining altitude, until everything felt far enough behind and below that we could finally breathe. it was still dark and the city loomed ahead: the structures seemed like celestial bodies, clusters, glittering faraway worlds. we craned our necks to take it in, and as we kept on the sky began to change almost imperceptibly. past the towering galaxies we turned, and the highways turned to avenues to main streets to lanes. we reached our destination and disembarked quickly, padding silkily through the sand to sink down at the water's edge. everything shifted from indigo to violet to lilac to pink to grey to an almost colorless, searing blue. i shielded my eyes and bore witness to what felt like a pure and true beginning of something new. i sat up a little straighter and crystal bits of earth shifted coolly beneath me. i realized with the dawn that there would be peace again for me, a greater joy than i had ever known.

image: remodelista