On the weekends, I am up before the sun. Most people my age think I'm nuts, but I look forward to the quiet solace Saturdays and Sundays bring. I get some of my best thinking done on the weekends while the house is still sleeping. I am totally content inside the confines of those early hours, just me and puppy breath and the smell of coffee brewing.
I have started trying to cultivate some version of this peace on my drive to work. I'm 20 days smoke-free, which means my focus is freed up a bit on that 45-minute commute. This morning I turned the off my podcast and drove to work-- in complete silence. I rolled down the windows and noticed the sunrise before me-- rays slicing through the clouds like the gunfire at the beginning of a horse race. Smoke billowed from box trucks, and has anyone ever noticed that people who drive Dodge Chargers don't feel the need to use turn signals when merging? Annoying, but I digress.
My mind began to wander, and before, I would have shut it up the second I saw it lacing up its boots... but these days, I usually give it permission to go wherever it wants without judgment.
I enjoy the quiet.
I enjoy mornings.
I enjoy the time to myself.
It is not selfish to admit that.
I wonder, though, if I treasure these quiet times so much as my sort of trade-off for not having children in my home to fight me when I try to put shoes on their feet. That's my grief process talking still, even after all these years. I've accepted my lot. I've accepted that my body cannot nurture tiny humans in the way that other bodies can. I've forgiven it for disappointing me, and embraced the things it CAN do instead, and still...
...still, here I am thinking about it.
I dreamed last night that I had a baby-- a son who we named Andrew. I remember my delight at being the person RECEIVING the congratulations from my aunts and cousins instead of being the person GIVING them for once. And he was beautiful. For a few hours last night I got to really FEEL that joy and my established place inside my family instead of just an accessory.
Everyone rushed in to see this human, swaddled in my arms. It was a gift, but it's left me feeling kind of lost in my feelings this morning.
It's fine.
Tomorrow brings another quiet morning with new mountains to climb.