Mornings are my favorite part of the day.
I used to wake up to the sound of the woodpecker outside my window, and sleepily doze as the sun rose past our electrical pole. Then I would sneak my bare feet out of the covers, find the flannel nightgown with lace sleeves I had discarded in the middle of the night, and pad my way out through the living room, into the back mud room, scoop up corn in a jar and head outside to touch the earth with my bare feet. I don’t know how many mornings I spent just like that during my preteen years.
At first, I was leaving out corn, to lure our resident herd of deer closer to me. Then, as my patience grew and their fear of an 11 year old, barefooted blonde child, receded, they began to come up to me and eat the corn near me. Then, they began greeting me there every morning. This, is probably where I started developing patience.
Eventually, as animal behavioralists will tell you happens if you combine food, patience and routine, the deer changed their behaviors. They began eating out of my hands. Initially as I crouched down, low to the ground, their legs splayed like giraffes drinking water, tails flicking nervously, snorting into my hands while scooping up the corn in their tongues. Later, as I stood, feeling so much like a Faery tale queen, my skinny ass in jeans, quietly delighted that this small herd, had come to trust me.
I have been drawn to animals and mornings, my entire life. The light is perfect, and most people don’t care enough to greet either of them consciously. I adore them both. If it’s not animals I am waking up for, it’s studio time.
This quarantine life has stolen my mornings from me. I let them slide away, because Cleo, my new puppy, a 7month old Belgian Tervuren, sleeps in until 9am if I let her. Right now, she’s passed out adorable in my bed, because I got her up at 6:30 this morning for breakfast, some play time, and a solid bully stick chew. Solid hour and a half up, now it’s probably time to sleep until 9am, when we head out to month three of #puppysocial. Life is the passing of time.
Life is Dirt popping up from downstairs to greet me, then stealing the big big dog bed. Life is pooping in the morning, and needing to eat food all day long. It’s different than I expected.
Not bad, certainly not excellent all the time, even for my optimistic self and the way I tend to see things from the bright side. It’s good even, if good gets to be a comfortable pair of jeans and a comic book t-shirt. However, life used to be phenomenal.
I used to spend my time dreaming, interested in everything around me, and high off a combination of great sex, weird ideas, comforting love, and connection to other people. But right now, I’m just ok. And, honestly, I’m ok with that. Good, is good enough, and good enough, feels comforting in a routine, casual, everyday way. I believe, though I could be wrong, that this is the beginning of contentment.
Contentment, in my research, leads to the second set of happiness- the lasting type- where the baseline is more median, and the feeling is calmer. I have been researching happiness for the last three years, because the low after that last dose of really manic sustained happiness with Bethany, was a really big low. My heart broke. Her heart broke. There was a huge hole, and a very definite lack- of happiness, of contentment, of belief in my ability to do something. Of belief in my ability to be a good partner, or a dog mom, or even a tattoo artist.
Times are changing again. I have some big rocks that I need placed in my life, and those rocks matter to my mental health, my physical wellness, and my ability to preform as a functioning community member. And, all of my big rocks, begin, with accessing my mornings- which is where my own, deep, sunrise contentment grows from, over and over again.