Monday Musings...Caught by the Wave
I'm a morning person. I always wake up before the alarm clock. I glance over, see that I've beaten the annoying buzzer, and press the button to ensure silence continues. I stumble in the dark and get ready to start my day.
I love getting up in the dark, when most people are still asleep, or pretending to be. It’s the perfect time for me to enter my headspace and think.
My first thoughts are usually about the future. I consider all of the things I know I need to accomplish that day, and I often wonder if it is humanly possible to get it all done. It’s like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, looking into the sea of possibilities and I feel paralysed. Like many of you, I take a deep breath and dive, hoping the tidal wave of responsibilities won’t carry me away. So, even though the sun starts to rise, my thoughts are very much in the dark recesses of my mind.
Facing the reality of another day, my mind shifts to the past. I look back on my life and remember that it has always been very full – with people, the problems they are facing, with mounting pressures, and a multitude of promises. And somehow, even with what seemed like a steady stream of expectations, I got through it.
It’s often in the present, though that we get stuck. It is in the moment that we feel like we’re drowning, and it seems impossible or even hopeless. We can’t seem to be able to swim to the surface. The whirlpool of thoughts in our mind just keep weighing us down.
So, sometimes, maybe many times, we lie in bed, before the buzzer goes off and think “how on earth am I going to make it through another day? All I'm doing is treading water." Sometimes it is so difficult, because each day we hope for change, wonder if we'll ever catch a break, but it never seems to happen. And for some people, well, they honestly feel that they’re done. There’s nothing left to give and the waves of darkness threaten to overtake them.
I've stumbled across many people in their darkness and have entered the whirlpool with them. I've worn my life jacket and brought one for them. Sometimes they are flailing so much it’s hard to put it on; while others welcomed it with relief. The thing about the darkness is that we think we are alone – that nobody understands or gets us. We’re too afraid or too proud to look weak, so we pretend to know how to swim, while, in reality, we can’t even do the doggy paddle.
So until the life jacket was secure, I would tread water with them, hold them up, listen, comfort, and wait until the shadow of darkness lifted. To them, it felt like the darkness was relentless, but it was not. It took finding a ray of hope and a path forward out of the whirlpool. And that’s hard for someone drowning to do that on their own.
Monday’s can be filled with darkness and dread. But they don’t have to be. I hope you will visit me on Mondays and find your ray of hope to face the day and the week ahead. I’ll likely be up before you and thinking about how I can hand you a life jacket!