portrait of a life: morning

I get ready for work this morning to the sound of NEEDTOBREATHE echoing in my bathroom, Daisy laying lazily at my feet. It’s early, the morning rushed because I slept in. My body seems greedy for sleep these days, the amount always feeling like never enough.

I like the feel of my bathroom, its 1948-original tiles reminding me of a time I think would have been simpler. Maybe less rushed.

Coffee brews as I apply makeup. Daisy wanders out of the bathroom to lap up some water and find something on the counter she isn’t supposed to have.

On my mirror is a long-standing reminder, the post-it note having seen better days. It’s crinkled now, the result of many days soaking up steam.

How many times have I stood barefoot in this sea-foam green bathroom in the fringes of morning, sun yet to rise, trying to awake?

Rubbing my bleary eyes, bright LED lights sharp.

Trying to slough off the sleep and step into a new day, completely unknowing of what it has in store for me.

It’s a type of faith, I suppose. The routine, the ritual. The getting ready for a day completely unknown to you. It’s a blank canvas and my morning is a ritual of preparedness, of welcoming in its unknowns. Whether I see it or not, I am stepping in faith every time I stand in this bathroom.

The note on my mirror reminds me to slough off more than just the physical sleepiness. It reminds me to prayerfully step into a position of wonder, seeing the world through a lens of learning.

I ready myself for this day, expecting the same monotony that was the day before, and the one before, and the one before.

I pray for today.

I recall a poem I wrote a few weeks ago:

Release the standard

I never measured you by it anyway

Release and remember:

You are free to take on wings

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