Snowy Day

I woke up still feeling a specific fear that where I was in the morning was a completely different place from the night before. I took a breath just to make sure that I was awake. If the blanket on me had made me feel too warm, I expected to have nightmares. The room was cool. Of course, it was still dark. It wasn’t the first time in the morning that I reminded myself that I was safe. I turned on the lights of the bathroom. My vision blurred, but I had been happy that it wasn’t like those days in college when I woke up with a death wish. As the reflection in the mirror became clearer, I gave myself a smile.I still had my mouth guard in, so I took it out, washed it off, and placed it back in its case. It was a rare occasion that I had not forgotten to sleep without it the night before.

My stomach rumbled, so it was time for breakfast. I opened the fridge, and I was aware of the random things I had bought in the last 6 months. I inhaled deeply, so as to figure out if I had left something for far too long in the corner of the fridge. Thankfully, there were enough ingredients to make breakfast. I grabbed the potato, pack of bacon, and carton of eggs. It wasn’t always like this. Just a year ago, I had rushed through this part of the morning, because I didn’t think I had it in me to pause and assess whether or not I should go out into the world with an empty tank. “Start with breakfast,” Justin told me once. But now his voice had become my own sort of mantra. “I promise you if you eat, you’ll probably feel less shitty on your morning commute.” A dose of healthy nihilism with a fresh glass of orange juice didn’t hurt. Thankfully, the box of OJ was loaded with just enough Vitamin D to kick start my morning. Maybe a year from now, I’ll be adding in a quick yoga routine to shake off the tremors of my dusty bones.

*

For a while, I had not accepted that this was a part of living. To wake up and to try again. Being on the road as a military brat had been a critical part of my story. I didn’t care for morning routine, because the most important thing that mattered was to get to the next station. I wanted to believe that carrying this type of approach to my life would get me to a very specific and special place – a plane or echelon that transcended mere mortals. But I was no special. Like every other human being, I was tired, restless, and stuck in a dream state. But there was something about standing over an open flame and dousing the skillet with olive oil, waiting for the pan to heat up, and tossing scrambled eggs in. There was no way I was going to start the remaining days of my life without feeding myself, giving myself the energy to keep going.

It made me wonder how my mother or father might have felt to have to take care of my needs growing up. Both living their respective lives like passing ships in the night, I’ve thought about how much they probably focused on their selves to get through the day. I wondered if any quality time would them could have helped them feel motivated. I knew that I was a lot. For a long time, I had hated that I woke up during those school mornings to greet adults that were more concerned about their jobs. I dreamed of those breakfast moments you saw in television – where the mother and father sat around the table, one with a newspaper, the other with a cup of tea, silently biding their time before encountering the jaws of some capitalistic world outside of the picket white fence. But now I understood that they were doing their best. Those mornings were hard for them too. They didn’t know what was coming next, and for a long time, I have become the spitting image of their scrambling to run out of the door only to daydream about the return back home.

But these days, it was my truth. It was more honest to fight against the cranky feeling that the day was going to be a further drift from my true self. These mornings were filled with tension, the type of challenge that made me feel like I wanted to give up. I would have sailed away to a new destination in search of the antidote that helped me to avoid the mornings. It had become a practice to tell myself – before that morning cup of coffee – that it’s okay you feel this way. You have come a long way on this journey.

On a snowy day, I had woken up not feeling anything. I had slept through my alarm. I was worried that if I showed up late, I would lose it all. I dreaded the moment I had to step onto the train, because I wasn’t sure where exactly it was taking me. I had gone to many places, but it was then that I realized that the absence of the world within me was a result of running away from what I needed then. I got dressed and rushed out the door. It goes without saying that on that day, I skipped breakfast.