“Finish each day and be done with it.

You have done what you could; some blunders and absurdities have crept in;

forget them as soon as you can.

Tomorrow is a new day; you shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit

to be encumbered with your old nonsense.”

 — Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

My Dad wakes up happy.  It can be very annoying.  As the day wears on he can descend into his typical grumpy old man persona, but even when he’s sick, crippled by arthritis and it’s a struggle to get out of bed he still does so in a good mood.

It has always been this way and I think it must be a genetic disposition.  My sister is the same whereas, in this instance at least, I take after my mother.  Growing up, Dad and Sis would be whistling around the kitchen of a morning, cracking eggs and jokes, banging pans, while my mum and I would sit at the table nursing a coffee and slice of toast throwing dagger looks at them and wondering why they couldn’t keep the noise down.

Even though I now love mornings, it still takes me a while to warm up to the day.  I love the feeling of being outside before the rest of the world wakes; there is a different quality to the air around dawn that speaks to possibility and potential in the day ahead.  But  I still don’t wake up jumping out of bed bursting with energy.  One of the reasons I enjoy being an early riser is that it generally gives me space and quiet to ease myself into the day, all I require is a little solitude to set me up.  Let me wake up at my own pace and I’m happy.

I wouldn’t swap places with either my Dad or my Sis, I would say that overall I’m a happier and more optimistic person than either of them.  But in a way I envy their start to the day:  as if the night has truly washed away their troubles and worries and they can greet the day completely anew, fresh and unencumbered by any old nonsense.