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Day 27: Morning

August 27, 2018

 

“Deciding whether or not life is worth living is to answer the fundamental question in philosophy.” 

-Albert Camus 

 

I’m currently rehearsing the play Every Brilliant Thing. I officially start two weeks from tomorrow, so these rehearsals have been taking place in my living room and on park benches. I was at a gazebo in Traveler’s Rest over the weekend. Apologies to those who bicycled by. 

 

The play is about a man who makes a list of all the amazing things in the world in an attempt to cheer up his mother who suffers from severe depression. To help get myself ready to play this guy, I’m spending the next few blogging weeks writing about things I love. Not only will it will help me prepare, it will also be a good reminder. I had a thought after my second infusion. It was a fleeting thought, so please don't worry, but it was a thought I had nonetheless. I was leaving the hospital, feeling hot, feeling nauseous, and I thought to myself, “Is it worth it?” 

 

It is. Of course. As soon as I had the words crossed my mind the many reasons I’m doing this flooded my brain. Small reasons to big reasons to all the ones in between.

 

I'm doing it because for the most part, the world is pretty dope. Yes, I stand by use of the word dope. 

 

So, here we go. 

 

Thing number 1: 

 

Mornings. 

 

I’ve always been a morning person. They’re the best. I think of them as my reward for not getting wasted the night before. Even when I was drinking I had a special fondness for the AM. I remember those times I would stay up all night, the jealousy I felt for the people jogging, looking bright and refreshed, is one of the things that made me realize that things needed to change. 

 

I love to walk in the morning. The streets are so beautiful before the rest of the world inhabits them. This morning the sky was pink and purple, and there in the middle of it was the moon. As bright as it had been the night before. Like it wasn’t ready to leave. Like it loves mornings as much as I do. 

 

When I wake up my thoughts are different. They’re clear and bright. Yet to be polluted by the slings and arrows of the rest of the day. It’s when I do most of my writing. Over piping hot black coffee and oatmeal with sliced peaches. 

 

So the world can have its drinks and late nights, when everybody’s out there lying to each other. Give me the mornings, when things are fresh, when the light is soft, when it’s too early to be anything other than yourself. 

 

 

 

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