Happy Sun-Day

Happy Sun-Day

One of the few things that I have ever envied in my life – this list is short, very short, believe me – is something I realized that the people who have it get really surprised that not all human beings are blessed with what they easily possess. Yet for some – including my species – we have always added such skill to the list of ‘Superpowers We Have Completely Failed To Acquire’, despite all the wishful thoughts, the planned attempts, and the encouraging self-talk.

You see, the thing that I envy everyone who has it, the ability that I tried my best to achieve, the superpower that I totally failed to apply in my life, is when people have the power to wake up early on weekdays, yet still can, willingly, take a long, blessed, comfortable, uninterrupted, undisturbed, unimaginably deep sleep on weekends, especially on Sundays!

How? Seriously, how??? Somebody out there must have the answer for that enigma.

How could one acquire this ‘rest-on-demand’ ability?

How would one enjoy to ‘sleep’ whenever they want?

How may one of my kind – the forever awake – be blessed with such superpower?

I hereby, representing my species, announce that we would offer whatever sacrifice – including and not limited to, a blood sacrifice – for whomever knows the secret to such great power.

Now, if we are going to speak about my sleeping habits—or more precisely, my nonsleeping habits—I would humbly say that every day is the same day for me. By that, I mean, it does not matter if it is summer or winter, hot or cold, windy, cloudy, rainy, or snowy. It also does not matter if I am tired or active, if I slept early or late, if I was exhausted or willing to stay all night so as not to miss the sunrise. And it does not matter if it is an expectedly depressing Tuesday, a long and frustrating Thursday, or a happily celebrated short Friday. It does not matter. Every day, despite all my efforts to join the Sleepyhead Club, is a clone of the previous one. Every day, I wake up early. Very early. Whether it is a weekday, a holiday, or a Sunday!

Every day is the same. Except for one day. A Sunday I still remember.

That Sunday started as a normal day for me. I woke up at 4 a.m., as usual. I had an exhaustingly short workout—short because I am old and exhaustingly short because I am really old—followed by the refreshingly cold shower, as usual. I prayed, hopefully, as usual. I had some dates with milk, trying desperately to follow my failing keto diet, as frustratingly usual. I put on yesterday's clothes and decided to take a walk to meet my friend for our weekly-usual Sunday morning coffee. It was a normal—almost identical—depressing start to the day.

I believe I forgot to mention one important thing in my mornings. A puzzle many are still wondering about. A mystery that adds to the unspoken reasons why I wake up early every day—more honestly, why I failed to ever sleep well. Most people keep this question lingering in their eyes until they cannot hold it anymore, and out of nowhere, they ask me, ‘So, tell us, what’s your secret? How could you always keep calm and smiling?’

The answer is simple. Too simple to believe, to be honest! Yet still, it is not an answer to those you are thinking about right now.

You see, I almost always—always—wake up in a bad mood. It does not matter how good or bad the previous day was. It does not matter if it was a terrible day or if it was the day I won the national lottery—I never won the lottery. In fact, I have just realised that I have never bought, and most likely will never buy, a lottery ticket. Why are people still using this expression? Maybe it is to remind themselves how depressed one should be for pursuing the narrow possibility of winning the lottery. Maybe!

Depressed, depression, depressing. Back to my ‘usual’ depressing day.

The depressing mood does not bother me anymore. We have a long-agreed-upon deal—even if it has not been signed yet—that depression will try, every morning, to ruin my day in the hopes that he/she/it/they—will the right pronouns for depression please stand up? Please stand up. Please stand up. We’re gonna have a problem here. For the hopes that the person writing this post will not get cancelled, let’s agree for now that ‘depression’ will go in life—or at least till the end of this essay—as a ‘He’. Are we agreed? Great. Let’s continue. At the beginning of every day, depression will try to convince me to take my own life. This kind and persuasive quest will start in the morning, once I wake up. And the deadline for such a passionate attempt is kind of a Cinderellian one; when the clock strikes 12 at midnight, I am spared for one day, till we meet our hardworking ‘He’ in the next morning.

Depression will try his best to convince me that leaving this life peacefully is way better than facing its illogically futile challenges. The man will try this for that day, this day, every day. That is his job, after all—collecting failed souls. Come on, guys. Can’t blame the man for doing his job! Or can we? We can? Can’t we? Yes, we can’t. Whatever! Yet, we have to confess that the man takes his job very seriously. He is never late, shows up for his duty every morning, and signs up actively once I open my eyes. The man never misses a day. To be fair, you have to give him some credit. However, this fight can go both ways. The man does his job, and I do mine. He is pushing me every day, and I am fighting him back every day. Every day. And by that, I seriously do not just mean every Day, but rather EVERY DAY. I won some. He almost got me a couple of times during the first two decades of my life; we get a draw most of the days, and the fight goes on as long as there are still rounds in that unsigned deal.

But this morning, I felt that I had no gas for fighting. It was the moment my frenemy notorious mate was waiting for. It seems that I was so exhausted from yesterday’s fight that I couldn't enter another one—at least not this moment, at least not this morning, at least not this day—so  I decided to go out for some fresh air and a good walk. That was the best excuse I could come up with, so as to convince myself that I am not running away from that fight but rather to delay today’s fight for another morning. That is what I told myself, but the true intention and the desired wish were to find ‘Hope’.

I know the road to that coffee shop by heart. I walked on that road, I rode a bike on that road, I took my scooter on that road, I waited for the bus on that road, I ordered a taxi on that road, and I drove my car on that road. And by all that, I mean, it was hard to find hope on a road where you know there is nothing to discover along its sides. I have always pictured ‘Hope’ as something that must take you by surprise. ‘Hope’ is something like an unexpected sunrise in the middle of the night. It is something that must forcefully take you from your flight status and put you, gracefully, in your fight mood. It simply requires something unknown, something to discover, something ‘New’. And on a road with no new buildings, no undiscovered paths, no hidden curves, and no covered places. On a road so boringly known, it was hard to imagine finding hope. However, I, strangely, still had hope to find ‘Hope’.

And Hope, fortunately, wasn’t far.

While waiting at the beginning of a crossing line on ‘the’ road, with my eyes expecting the light to turn green, I noticed that everyone around me started taking out their phones and snapping a photo. It was an action that was hard to ignore. So, I neglected the green permission, I raised my eyes, I had a look, and I was mesmerised.

The sun was there, like you had never seen it before, felt it before, or known it before.

The sun was there not as a glaring celestial ball, one that sends its hot waves of light to torture the inhabitants of that blue wondering space dot, but rather as a dear old friend. One who comes on a seasonal visit carrying a gift of heavenly warm rays. Rays that deliver not only a message of warmth but also a message of joy, empathy, care, love, and most importantly, hope.

I found myself taking my phone, greeting my friend, accepting her gift—the sun is a 'she’, I presume we won’t have a problem with that—collecting her rays, and reading her message. It was such a perfectly timed and needed warm present for a strugglingly fighting depressed heart. That is what I thought I should be thankful for. That is what I was thinking about when my eyes were looking at the screen of my mobile while taking that photo. Until I slid the screen lock, opened the photo gallery, and had another look at the photo I snapped, I started noticing something else—something that is easy to miss, something new, something precious. A hidden in plain sight original message, another gift.

This gift was hard to notice at the beginning. While everyone was enjoying the stunning view of that warm friend, That gift was not for those who raised their heads and looked up high, but rather for those who were humble enough to also look down and notice the line of light the sun draws on the road with the help of those standing trees. The line sends a simple message. One that can only be deciphered by those who are truly willing to accept the road with all its suffering. A message that says, It is good to look at your sun and focus on your aim, but all the hopes are on the joy of following the light and enjoying the journey.

To enjoy, to accept, to fight, to have fun, get from the rays, some, and follow the ‘Hope’ line of your sun.

Happy Sun-Day.

P.S.

A message for my frenemy notorious mate: ‘not today’.