daybreak / daylight
There's been an idea tumbling around in my brain for such a long time now. It's barely an idea- more like if thinking was a moment. Something so abstract and unformed, I'm constantly trying to grasp it, to make it tangible, to make it whole. I remember one morning, I was driving very early on a Sunday morning. It was the summer before my senior year of college, and I was exhausted. I was working from 7:00-3:30 Monday through Friday as a camp counselor, all day Saturday as a cashier, and every Sunday I needed to make the hour and 20 minute drive to church in Rochester to sing. I was so tired. It was just me and my mom at home all summer, and I found myself frustrated with her opinion that I shouldn't be tired - she works a full-time job, she knows what "tired" is, I just "play outside all day." So I was tired. For so many reasons, I was worn. Don't get me wrong, day camp is the best job I've ever had, but I was fatigued, thoroughly, inside and out. Anyway, I digress. It was a dark morning. I was on the road and it was still pitch dark. Every Sunday I found myself staring out into the dark, waiting for the light to come so I wouldn't have to be so scared of falling asleep at the wheel. I know it happened, I couldn't tell you how many times, but it did, and that was terrifying. Anyway, this particular morning, I remember watching the sky intently. I was watching the color change, ever so slowly, ever so steadily. It started to get faintly bluer, faintly brighter. I remember thinking, "When is daybreak?" Is daybreak the moment sunrise happens? Is it the moment the sun peaks over the trees? Is it when the stars are no longer visible? I decided during that drive to try and discover daybreak. To pinpoint the moment day broke. Instead, what happened is, as I drove and watched and listened to music, I suddenly noticed it was daytime. It was bright, my headlights were off, and it was, in every sense of the word, daylight.
I can't tell you why, but that stuck with me. The day that happened, I felt such a strong desire to write about it. I wanted to create this wonderful beautiful story about searching for daybreak, only to realize that as you are staring out into the darkness, you'll suddenly notice the daylight. Things looking brighter. While you weren't watching, the sun came up and destroyed all of the dark, all of the heavy, all of the broken.
I had this thought in my head, this unwritten and unfinished story, and put it away in the back of my thoughts. Throughout that senior year I struggled with a lot of things: purpose, mental health, body dysmorphia and disordered eating, some kind of church hurt complex, an identity crisis- you name it. I graduated and moved home. That was hard. I had friends going to do great things, and there I was, back at Ontario orchards, with not a clue what I should do with my life, and even less money. In September, I made the unwise, but entirely necessary decision to move to Rochester. I moved in with Abby and Julia, which was the best thing that could have ever happened to me.
Anyway, we've talked about this, you know the story of 2017-2019. You've heard the heartbreak. You've listened as I typed my brokenness and pain into these hallowed digital archives. But that's what this is about - those years, I was stumbling through a kind of darkness I didn't ever foresee, and wouldn't wish on anyone at all. I was staring at the starless light-polluted sky, wishing, waiting, and wanting for daybreak. I was waiting for the daylight to appear, ridding myself of the thick black night. The thing is though, daybreak isn't something you can pinpoint. I couldn't pinpoint the moment the dark would disappear. But it did. There was still heartbreak, there is still some darkness, but at one moment, laying on my balcony in my new apartment with my husband, starting a new chapter, I knew that this was daybreak. I could see the daylight washing over all of it, seeping into the deepest crevices of my mind. All of the nooks and crannies filled with dark sludge were being slowly cleaned by this new, fresh daylight.
Daylight, and daybreak, aren't something you can pinpoint. You can't always find it. But it's coming. Sure as the sun goes down, it comes back up again, and you sometimes have to just wait for it. Sometimes it takes a long time. Sometimes while you're waiting, you heart breaks, and breaks again. Sometimes you break so many times you don't know how you'll ever be able to get back up again. Then, the sky will start to turn. Bluer and Brighter, the world will come back to life, washed clean by the power of daylight.
This idea has been tumbling in my head, tripping and flipping around, waiting to come to life, fully formed. I don't know when that will happen, but at least this is a start.
I can't tell you why, but that stuck with me. The day that happened, I felt such a strong desire to write about it. I wanted to create this wonderful beautiful story about searching for daybreak, only to realize that as you are staring out into the darkness, you'll suddenly notice the daylight. Things looking brighter. While you weren't watching, the sun came up and destroyed all of the dark, all of the heavy, all of the broken.
I had this thought in my head, this unwritten and unfinished story, and put it away in the back of my thoughts. Throughout that senior year I struggled with a lot of things: purpose, mental health, body dysmorphia and disordered eating, some kind of church hurt complex, an identity crisis- you name it. I graduated and moved home. That was hard. I had friends going to do great things, and there I was, back at Ontario orchards, with not a clue what I should do with my life, and even less money. In September, I made the unwise, but entirely necessary decision to move to Rochester. I moved in with Abby and Julia, which was the best thing that could have ever happened to me.
Anyway, we've talked about this, you know the story of 2017-2019. You've heard the heartbreak. You've listened as I typed my brokenness and pain into these hallowed digital archives. But that's what this is about - those years, I was stumbling through a kind of darkness I didn't ever foresee, and wouldn't wish on anyone at all. I was staring at the starless light-polluted sky, wishing, waiting, and wanting for daybreak. I was waiting for the daylight to appear, ridding myself of the thick black night. The thing is though, daybreak isn't something you can pinpoint. I couldn't pinpoint the moment the dark would disappear. But it did. There was still heartbreak, there is still some darkness, but at one moment, laying on my balcony in my new apartment with my husband, starting a new chapter, I knew that this was daybreak. I could see the daylight washing over all of it, seeping into the deepest crevices of my mind. All of the nooks and crannies filled with dark sludge were being slowly cleaned by this new, fresh daylight.
Daylight, and daybreak, aren't something you can pinpoint. You can't always find it. But it's coming. Sure as the sun goes down, it comes back up again, and you sometimes have to just wait for it. Sometimes it takes a long time. Sometimes while you're waiting, you heart breaks, and breaks again. Sometimes you break so many times you don't know how you'll ever be able to get back up again. Then, the sky will start to turn. Bluer and Brighter, the world will come back to life, washed clean by the power of daylight.
This idea has been tumbling in my head, tripping and flipping around, waiting to come to life, fully formed. I don't know when that will happen, but at least this is a start.
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