Sunday, October 2, 2016
As the alarm went off one recent morning, I realized that waking up at 6:00 a.m. is so different today than it was just a few months ago. Now, it feels as if I'm forcing myself to get up bleary-eyed in the middle of the dark night, rather than enthusiastically jumping out of bed with the sunshine streaming through the bedroom window, the birds singing a cheerful "good morning" and the day welcoming me to get up and go. When glancing at the clock at 7:00 p.m. at this time of year, the darkness envelops me, leaving me with a feeling that the day is done and my pajamas and reading chair are calling to me. Just a few months ago, 7:00 p.m. was considered early evening with at least one, maybe two hours of daylight left, leaving time for so much possibility and an abundance of energy that wouldn't wane until nightfall. The seasons have been shifting and I have been grieving it. One gray Sunday afternoon, I sat quietly just to let myself examine why I felt such profound grief and soon my perspective, my grief over the waning daylight started to change. As I explored the ever-evolving balance of dark and light, I saw that in many ways, it was simply another time of give and take. One must have the darkness in order to appreciate the light. Too much light would rob me of the quiet, introspective and renewing benefits of darkness. Too much darkness and I would lack the energy that the sun and daylight provide. So, with this renewed perspective, as the season shifts from one of abundant daylight to one of increased darkness, I am seeing the blessings in the shift. As much as I am one who loves the energy of the daylight, I am welcoming the arrival of increasing darkness. Both are interdependent and necessary and beautiful and I am content to be bathed in both.