#CherishTheMorning

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The Miracle of Morning Shaina Tranquilino November 28, 2024

Emma had forgotten what peace felt like. For years, her nights were filled with the relentless rhythm of her heart racing against the silence, her mind pacing through labyrinths of unanswerable questions. Sleep evaded her as if it feared the depth of her restless thoughts. She became a recovering insomniac—not by choice, but by necessity, as her body finally began to demand a reckoning with exhaustion.

Her journey to recovery was slow, marked by endless trial and error. Warm baths. Herbal teas. Journaling. Therapy. Some days were victories, others felt like relapses into old patterns. Yet, slowly, Emma began to win back the nights. And then, unexpectedly, she discovered the mornings.

It began one late summer day when she awoke to a strange sensation—her body, refreshed and light. She glanced at her alarm clock; it was barely past 6 a.m. Outside her bedroom window, dawn was just beginning its slow bloom. The sky was a watercolor of lavender and gold, streaked with pink clouds that drifted lazily. A cool breeze teased the curtains.

On impulse, Emma wrapped herself in a shawl and stepped outside. The air smelled clean, earthy with dew, and carried the faint sweetness of jasmine from her neighbor's garden. The streets were quiet but alive—a bird's tentative song, the distant murmur of sprinklers, the shuffle of a paperboy on his rounds.

She felt as though the world had been waiting for her to notice it.

That morning, Emma sat on her front steps and simply watched the sun rise. She didn't reach for her phone or make a list of things to do. For the first time in years, she just existed in the present, her mind as calm as the soft light stretching across the horizon.

From then on, morning became her sanctuary. Waking early, she found comfort in the small rituals she created. Grinding coffee beans felt meditative; the warm mug in her hands, grounding. She rediscovered reading—not the frenetic skimming of articles during sleepless nights, but slow immersion into novels whose words wrapped around her like a blanket. And she learned to sit in silence, allowing her thoughts to drift without judgment.

Emma began to notice things she had once been too tired to see: the way sunlight turned her kitchen tiles into patches of gold, the intricate patterns frost left on her windowpane, the gentle stir of life as her neighborhood woke up. She felt gratitude for the simple acts of breathing deeply, stretching her body, feeling alive. Mornings, she realized, were a miracle she had overlooked.

One day, as she strolled through a park just after dawn, a small child raced past her, laughing as he chased a runaway balloon. His laughter broke through the quiet, startling a flock of pigeons into flight. Emma smiled and thought of herself—not the anxious woman she had been, but the woman she was becoming. The childlike wonder she saw in him was now hers, too.

Her life hadn’t transformed overnight. She still had sleepless moments, and her mind still wandered to dark places on occasion. But she had learned to anchor herself in the stillness of morning, where she found her strength and clarity.

The miracle of morning wasn’t in its grandeur, Emma realized, but in its simplicity. It was in the gift of another chance, the promise of a new day, the quiet beauty that had always been there, waiting for her to see it.

And so she greeted every sunrise with a quiet smile, thankful for the rhythm of her heart, the stillness of her mind, and the light of another morning to cherish.