5 a.m.

There’s something about silence at 5 a.m. that sounds like nothing else – at 2 or 3 or even 4 silence is deafening. It’s a reminder of many things; anxiety, uncertainty, loneliness – sometimes an odd mixture of all three.

But 5 a.m. feels different. In the most elementary way, it’s a reminder that I made it through another night. That a new day is soon dawning and I’m still breathing. The silence reminds me to say thank you for that, and remember not to take it for granted.

The quiet reminds me that I’m here alone, but less in a lonely way and more in a blessed way. That I’m lucky enough to be capable of spending parts and pieces of my life alone. I’m not anywhere in life I don’t want to be nor spending it with anyone I don’t want to spend it with.

Occasionally I hear a train in the distance and it reminds me of the past. I think of how many people in how many years have felt the same things; how they’ve been reminded of fears, hopes, dreams, joy, happiness and mortality all in this same moment in their mornings years previously. I wonder how their lives turned out. I hope they kept their faith. I pray they felt hopeful and joyful for the rest of their days, and continued to dream as big as the sky and had days that felt so perfect they thought they lived in the clouds.

And I guess that’s what I like about 5 a.m. It’s full of promise. A promise of things to come. Of my own hopes and dreams and even fears realized. It makes me happy to be alive, and so grateful to be living another day.

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