One of my favorite songs is Cat Stevens’ “Morning has broken.” There is something so peaceful and hopeful about that song. The idea that morning breaks as a new day, unfettered by the day before and that the grass is new and the birds have the resilience to sing again reminds me that every day is a chance for a new day. It’s currently 7:28 a.m. here and sunrise is at 7:36 a.m. Already, the world is waking up. A soft glow from the eastern sky highlights the sun’s imminent arrival and the light coating of snow on the ground bounces that light back to make the dawn just a little bit brighter.
In my younger days, I proclaimed I was a “night owl,” mostly because that’s when the party really started. These days? I really love it when I’m up before dawn and I can enjoy a slow and easy sunrise. It reminds me that I did change my life for this, among other things. In the 30+ years that I worked full-time at an executive gig, I didn’t often see sunrises and instead saw the bright halogens of the office overhead lighting. These days? I’ll take the sunrise, thank you.
For a little while, I’ve been struggling. The loss of our sweet girl Meadow, lack of sunshine, cold weather and return to work in January took its toll and I engaged in all of those bad habits I try to avoid: worrying about life and work, lamenting the winter, and forgetting to enjoy what we have built here.
And then, the sun rises. (Pause for sunrise at 7:36 a.m.)
My mom always used to say, “the sun always rises.” It was a Marie Platitude. She had a number of them and as a kid, it honestly felt dismissive. As an adult? Well, the sun always rises.
Today in what promises to be a busy day for a semi-retiree, I knew I had to claw back my senses of peace and purpose as work threatened to overwhelm my psyche. Without consciously planning for it, I decided to catch the sunrise. In that moment, I found peace again.
With our house situated in the valley, it will be another half-hour still until the sun breaks over the hills in the distance and I’m hoping that the clouds hold off to let the sun stream through the windows. I have to say, it’s nothing short of spectacular and the primary reason we took down all of the walls in this house. When Mother Nature puts on a show like that, you just have to punch your ticket and enjoy.
Whether or not the clouds hold off today, however, doesn’t necessarily matter. In one instant, with the sky a beautiful mix of blue, yellow and light pink, I was able to reframe my thoughts and simply accept joy.
The sun… it always rises.
Starting this year, I committed to working a little less and giving even more energy to myself, our life and our home. It’s time to move forward. Like the sky above, there may be many clouds yet to form in our lives, but it’s also time to show up everyday for the sunrise and greet every morning with the hope that Cat Stevens once wrote about.
“Mine is the sunlight; mine is the morning…”
My favorite line of the song. It inspires ownership and purpose. My theory goes that if I own the sunlight and the morning, I own my peace. Days will get busy, work will intrude in that all-encompassing way that it does and the skies will cloud with rain and snow from time to time. But if I own the morning and the peace it offers, am I not better prepared to weather life’s proverbial storms knowing that in just a few hours, morning will break again?
Today, I needed that reminder. And I needed to remind myself to work less and enjoy more. My greatest sense of fulfillment truly comes from the lives we are building. From the mundane of dishes and grocery shopping to the unique of having a private dinner on the beach in Antigua. It’s about the simple joys of watching the sunlight stream through the house and cause ripples of dappled sunshine outside to make the snow sparkle. It’s about making time to work out, read a book and play with the sweetest little fur buckets I ever met. It’s about the evening conversations with my husband and those Friday ski trips with my sisters. Life includes my winter escapes as well as a random Tuesday in May when the sun is shining, the temperature tops out in the mid-70s and our forest has popped open with leaves and migratory birds.
“Praise for the singing, praise for the morning, praise for them springing fresh from the world.”
Cat leaves us with a little bit of God and a whole lot of gratitude. I can use both in my life. It’s that closure of the song, however, that reminds me that my own praise is a conscious and deliberate act. I have to choose to engage in praise. No final message could be more powerful. For all of those times I struggle with not appreciating this semi-retired life and for the times when I fear that once again, I’ve worked too much and enjoyed too little, the answer is instead in pausing to praise. Praise itself helps me step out of the tedious and back into hopefulness.
It’s 8:33 a.m. Morning has indeed broken. And in the hour that it took me to write this missive, I have reclaimed my simple peace.
“The sun always rises.”
Thanks Mom.
The Yuppie Homesteader 