Day after day

Even though my alarm goes off every morning at 5:18 am and if I sleep in so much as an hour beyond that I feel lousy for the rest of the day, I wouldn’t say I’m a morning person. Frankly, most mornings the idea of crawling out of bed and walking the dog does not thrill me. The feeling of “Didn’t I just do this? Do I have to do this again?” is never far away.

My life goes through cycles, too, it seems. There are times when I’m excited and enthusiastic about life. I know what I’m doing and why, and I’m ready to get after it. Other times it just seems like I’m going through the motions, doing what I do every day because I’m not sure what else to do. But I keep going, because I’ve learned that such times don’t last, and eventually I’ll break out of my funk.

I think January is a major cause of “funk-iness”. In the yearly cycle, January is The Nothing. It’s cold and gloomy, but with nothing certain to look forward to. November has Thanksgiving. December has Christmas and New Years. February has March. But January? Nothing against Dr. King, but January’s got nada.

As you’ve probably guessed, this year is no exception and I’m in a general malaise again. It’s not that bad. Life is certainly nothing to complain about, and parts of it are really kinda good. But somehow it always seems to come around to 5:18 am again, the alarm and the cats are shrieking, the dog needs walked, and I am just not ready to face another day. Any day now I’m going to find the key to kicking out of this rut. I’m not sure what it is, but I’ll find it.

When I was young I saw a play of sorts about a boy with an active imagination who loved airplanes and the color yellow. As he ages he gets worn down by life and gets to the point where he just can’t keep going. He asks his nephew who is staying with him to bring him something yellow. His nephew, who has learned to fly real places using his imagination (long story), returns that night and presents his uncle with a piece of the sun.

I thought it was a cool story back then. I related with the nephew. Now I’m older, and I relate with the aging uncle. I’m feeling a little empty, and I could use something yellow. Anything warm and yellow.

Somewhere out there is my piece of the sun.