August 5, 2011
The Bright Side
If you're always waiting for the weekend, it's probably time to evaluate how you're spending Monday-Friday.
The sunrise is a global event, shared at different times by different people, all doing different things. Only they're not. They're getting up; they're getting around; by in large, they're getting ready for work. There is probably coffee involved at some point in their morning ritual, but this isn't about that.
This is about how they all put their pants on one leg at a time (don't they?), maybe brush their teeth, grab a granola bar, and drive to somewhere listening to people talk about celebrity gossip in radio voices. This is about that drive, that destination, and the whole miasma perverting it.
But mainly, it's about something decidedly the opposite of that. I'm talking about the mornings where you bound down the steps, stopping at your car even though you feel like a couple laps around the block. You ate already, had a good cup of coffee, and both are settling well. There is work to be done, but better that than the alternative. Better to have something to do than nothing; and lest I forget, better to be paid than not.
Your car starts (as if anything else could happen...), and there is music (!) on - good music! You do not hear anything about Lindsey Lohan, and maybe, you dance a little bit. (Or at least, you bob around in the car in that way that approximates dancing.) You drive to where you need to go, and the traffic mostly does not make you want to hurt anyone.
You are eager to get things done, knowing that you will be productive. The diem is there to be carped. Or something.
Then something happens. Or someone happens. More broadly, shit happens, as it's prone to do. It doesn't matter the job - even if you're a barista - shit will happen. And it will be shitty.
This is about all of that. Mostly, it's about that initial feeling, and how that's yours to keep hold of, your paddle when shit creek starts getting turbulent. That feeling of unbridled optimism as you looked at the virgin light cresting the horizon, spilling like grapefruit juice over an inky canvas, smarter and stronger and hell, maybe even better looking than you ever thought possible.