As the snow settles down on the streets of Lexington, I sit, sipping my black coffee, listening to my roommates shuffle around the kitchen. My shades are opened, like they are every morning, but because of the way the snow turns the sky gray, all the light pouring in seems quiet. Classes have been canceled today. That must have been a decision of anticipation, because there's only about an inch of snow on the ground, and it's been snowing since yesterday afternoon.
There's something to be said for the mornings you have all to yourself, the ones you can spend snuggled underneath the covers while the world freezes around you. Mornings that let you take your time sipping your coffee, rather than taking it to go or chugging it down right before you have to leave. Sometimes you even have to reheat it. You lost track of time in the book you were reading and now realize you have a cold mug of coffee sitting on the table next to you. So you heat it up, take another sip, and set it back down.
I have on my favorite pair of socks. They were a gift from someone I love very much. Also a gift, a book sits on my desk with a bookmark about 70 pages in. It's the one my father sent me for Christmas.
There are so many things that could be done on a morning such as this. I have a partially finished letter drafted to my best friend on my desk. I have the options of a few books, including the Christmas gift. I could sleep in and spend my time dreaming away. Yet for some reason, I decided to sit down at my desk with my computer. This is not an unusual choice in the modern era, don't get me wrong. But I wanted to write today. While the things I've mentioned here might not mean much to anyone reading this, they mean a lot to me. Snowy or rainy mornings, the ones with the quiet light, so quiet that I can hear my roommates' socks scoot across the floor, are the ones that keep me content.
The point of me saying this to you is not to teach a lesson or give tips on how to succeed in something. The point of me saying this, at best, is to tell you to find your snowy or rainy mornings. For my dad, the days that make him happy are the ones when the sky is clear and the air is warm. He can sit outside and eat on those days. For my mom, it's stormy nights. A screened in porch or the stoop that precedes my Gramma's front door are the perfect place to sit and watch the rain fall and the lightning strike the sky. You can see the contentness on her face, and she does not realize that she is a sweet, southern woman enjoying things that sweet, southern women enjoy.
In a few hours, Lauryn and I will begin our cross-campus trek to the gym. We will both be running and then doing other strengthening exercises. I need to stop at the campus bookstore and buy a book for a class. The reading is due on Thursday. My list of to-do's does not disappear on my happy mornings. Once the morning is over, I'll go on with my day and I'll forget how comfortable I feel right now. Until the next morning like this one, I'll be overwhelmed with classes, exercising, writing, deadlines, things of that nature. But then I'll take a break, maybe read a book of my own choosing, and think about my father eating outside, asking for his salmon to be cooked dry because that is the way he likes it. And I'll think about my mother, and the sweet, southern woman she is enjoying snapping green beans in a storm. And then I'll think about these socks, about the cold coffee that I have to reheat, about the soft light, and all will be calm, and all will be comfortable.