Awakened at the ungodly hour of 5 AM with the old man’s urge to pee, I go back to bed only to toss and turn for a few minutes, realizing that my brain is already in overdrive and further sleep will be impossible. Kicking off the covers, I’m up – the irrevocable chain of morning events that will lead me back into the world has begun, earlier than usual, and therefore calmer and more mindful than usual. Time affords such mindfulness.
Outside, the sky is mostly without light or color – all to be filled in later. I find this calming bit of music and amble into the kitchen. It’s too early to think with any clarity, and so I set up two cups of tea – one matcha and one some elderberry concoction. Normally I would just do one – what compels the double dose is beyond my reason. The piano gently moves the morning along.
Donning a pair of reading glasses (atop my contact lenses, which went in on autopilot before I groggily exited the bathroom earlier) I type these words while sipping the matcha. ‘I’m getting old,’ I thought. Forty-seven suddenly felt daunting, because I didn’t usually feel it at all. These dark mornings certainly do work their melancholy, but the music was calming, and the tea was warm in my hand, and please God may that be enough to get us through the winter.
At the dining room table, a collection of Christmas gifts in various states of wrapping surround my laptop. In this dim morning and its lack of light, it all feels a little sad, a little futile. The silly rituals we humans have crafted to feel just a little bit better or to believe just a little bit more. The efforts a person makes to belong and connect…
This is why it’s best to be asleep at such an hour.
This is how we greet December.
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