Mornings.

I love the morning. I love the morning when it’s quite and dark and the world hasn’t woken up yet. It’s the best time to dream. The whole day is laid out in ahead of you, ready for love and laughter and living.

I love the morning. I love the morning when the first order of business is prayer. A prayer about anything. A thank you to God.  And I’m always a little stiff from the day before so  I roll out the yoga mat and the only sound is my breath and the slap of my feet doing a jump back.  Reach up towards Heaven, sweep back down to Earth. Push into the discomfort. (Repeat.)

And then it’s time to meditate. On gratitude, on compassion, on connection, on courage.  On all of the things already within me- within us all- it just takes a moment of stillness to be reminded.

I love the morning. I love pouring coffee over ice and adding the cream. The swirling of the black and white and the notes of the ice clinking in the glass. I love cracking eggs over dog food and looking down at brown eyes and wagging tails. I love cracking eggs for myself and sitting down with a book. Whatever book it is that I’m in the middle of. And I read what others have written in this book I brought home from the library on my orange bike.

I love the morning because it is ritual. And it is prayer. And it is hope. Not only hope, but a promise. It’s a promise of what is to come, how I will live this day. How I will laugh this day. How I will love this day.

Life is uncertainty. Life is not knowing. That can be really scary and overwhelming. To the point where my breath is shallow and my eyes overflow with tears. And it seems impossible to make plans or to hope because life will just happen how it happens anyway.

But then the morning comes. It always does.  And the ritual returns my breath. And the prayer returns my hope. So maybe that’s what life is. Getting up in the morning.  

Ready for love and laughter and living.

Just because I love the morning doesn't mean it isn't difficult to leave this little scenario <3