I didn’t mean to let it happen.

This falling out of routine thing. I’m not a school teacher, or any other position that has a definite difference between academic year schedule and summertime.

And yet, for the past two and a half months, I’ve awakened in the morning without help of an alarm clock, and it’s felt really good.

This week, I started setting the harp chimes to wake me – first at 6 a.m., one day at 6:20. In preparation for next week, when I have to rouse the children and make their lunches and get them off to school.

Me, too, of course. I began teaching college writing again this week, but my class starts at 10 a.m., so I don’t really have to rise early. I just wanted to.

There is something about the early morning that is sheer bliss. Perhaps it is the quiet of the dawn, when everyone else lies in repose, or the fact that the bickering and anxiety of the prior day has completely dissipated.

A new morning is a new chance. A blank canvas. An infinite possibility.

Today could be the day that I … secure a new client, win an award, devise a brilliant brainstorm, run longer than I ever have before. Anything is possible.

When you’re looking down the lens of a new morning – regardless of the weather outside or the forecast to come – I, at least, believe that the whole world is mine for the reaching. I can do anything.

What is it about the day that ensues that takes that away?

Does anything really happen to lure us into believing that the possibilities have faded away, that we are mired in mud?

I don’t believe so. And yet, that is how the day unfolds.

We walk through the hours, our mood changing with each interaction, each phone call, each email. What was possible suddenly seems impossible.

And by the evening, we collapse into the bed or flop on the couch, sometimes in despair, sometimes merely subdued by the weight of it all.

I’d like to think that as the fall approaches, I don’t really have to give in to that fiction. I don’t have to succumb to doubt and worry and the heaviness of a full day.

Last night, I was looking at my schedule and it started looking crowded and busy like it did in the spring. Oh no! I’m back where I didn’t want to be and without any glance toward balance and control.

But no. I can stop the patterns from repeating.

I can wake in the morning and open a spiritual book and immerse in that before my day really gets going so that when it does, it is infused with the wisdom of what I took in before I was fully awake.

Angel cards. Prayer. Swamiji’s On Business and Relationships. An email about the moon phases and how it aligns with our souls.

Whatever it may be, we can set our compass on a loftier direction and let it guide us through the days.

This morning: gray skies and subtle wind. It rained heavy and hard last night, with fractures of lightning gripping the sky.

Early, Shaya wordlessly climbed into bed beside me and though I would have risen earlier, he lay so close to me that I remained there, taking it in, lingering in our connection.

It was a good start to a late summer Friday before a holiday weekend.

And I am determined to let that set the tone for the rest of the day unfolding, in happiness, in joy, in infinite possibility.

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