I woke up before 6 this morning, only to find that my internet wasn’t functioning. After crawling behind a desk and plugging multiple cords and plugs in and out, I gave up to a morning that wasn’t connected to the entire world. My phone still worked, so I knew we hadn’t been invaded. I could still connect to my chat lists through my phone, and with that knowledge I breathed a technological sigh of relief, turned my phone off and made coffee.
Saturdays have become a sort of haven for me. Though I enjoy most of what Monday through Friday brings me, my mind often dreams of the lazy pace in most weekend starters. I’ve found that the older I get the more morning I want. Sleeping in has lost much of its value and has been replaced with an appreciation for watching the day illuminate.
Today I woke up earlier than I would’ve preferred, but it was supposed to happen, I think. Noticing an opportunity to write about this strangest of days, a morning without internet connection, I started to absorb what I was experiencing—perhaps what I normally overlook while I’m tabbing between gmail, Facebook, the New York Times and three or four chat windows.
I watched the sun rise. The sky wasn’t gray, nor was it blue, but more a subtle pink mixed in with some cream and drifting low morning fog. Even November mornings in Texas have a chill, and since I’m propped up next to my window (yes, it’s open), my face battles between cool gusts and warm plumes of steam rising from a cup of coffee placed closer than usual to my nose.
The rooster just cock-a-doodle-doo’d. And the neighbor’s dogs appropriately chorused back, while birds continue to chirp hear and there. The clouds keep shifting across the sky and I look at this picture before me. Yes, it’s not perfect and there’s now a slight whirring sound of cars on the main road a mile away. All I can focus on is the misty morning and the warmth of this cup before me. The warm to cold and back again comforts me, somehow as a reminder that things will always be changing—one day alive, one day gone, one day happy, one day sad. But if I’m humble enough to appreciate what is before me, then it won’t matter what the day offers.
I’ve been told that the journey, not the destination, is the gift. I’m not sure how I feel about that, but I do think the journey is all we can affect now. Perhaps one day, I will have found my destination and never know the difference.