Night Owls in Apollo’s World (aka: Morning People Get it Done)

The prettiest sunrise I’ve ever seen was during the spring of 1994, in Cocoa Beach, Florida. There was something magical about the way the deep sapphire sky suddenly began to blush brilliant streaks of coral and rose, while I stood in the glistening waves of the Atlantic, watching nature’s show.

Maybe that was the moment I became a morning person.

After that first and best of all sunrises, I began to appreciate more about the peaceful moments of early morning. The way mist skimmed along the surface of mountain lakes. The quiet stillness, like a blank canvas to organize my thoughts for the day. The sweet trill of the early bird, greeting me outside my window. Morning is here! A fresh day! New opportunities! Ahh, mornings, embracing me as I throw my arms wide, spinning beneath the beautiful, pale coin of sunrise. The world is new again, and mornings and I are one.

Until…THWACK!!

The muddy combat boot of some bleary-eyed night owl whacks me in the head. “Will you keep it down, for crying out loud?” they screech. “Some of us sane people are still trying to sleep!”

Night owl with coffee saying No

Oh, night people. Worshippers of the fading, red-gold rays of sunset. Lovers of darkness, and the moon, and midnight snacks while the rest of the world slumbers. I see and hear you.

No, like I literally see and hear you. I see the annoying bright headlights flash through my window at night. I hear your noisy, raucous parties and televisions blaring long after I’ve set my own head against the pillows. If you want to be a night owl, fine. But can you at least try to make yourselves as silent and stealthy as actual owls, so as not to disturb the sleep of us early birds?

Alarm clock nighttime

I sometimes feel such pity for night owls. This world is run by and for the early risers. The go-getters. The ones who have learned to defy mediocrity and complacency, who rise before the sun to meditate, who get in their daily workouts before the others have opened their eyes, who sweep into work each day like Apollo’s chariots, ready to shine.

Morning people get sh*t done.

The night folks eventually stumble in, groggy, still shaking off the effects of last night’s greasy pizza and beer. They are not yet in the moment, still full of nostalgia for their toasty warm beds. They stare like zombies at their computer screens, re-reading the same email three times before anything makes sense, and throwing eye daggers at any chipper morning person who dares to greet them with a sunny smile.

Morning birds vs. night owls

But thank goodness for you, followers of Artemis. Because when 3pm rolls around, and we lovers of sunrise begin to lose steam, you are there. You are there to take the mantle, to keep the flame burning as the flock of morning birds packs up our briefcases and heads home to relax. We thank you for making this possible, so that we can go and drive on freeways empty of traffic, and enjoy time with our families while there is still light outside, and have early dinners at uncrowded restaurants, because we can be assured that the night owls will continue to work. We sleep better (at 8pm) because of your efforts.

We are so appreciative, dear night people, that we will continue to offer you the magic elixir that helps to bring you to life each morning when you finally drag your feet into work. Coffee. Prepared by morning birds, and sold by morning birds, who happily pocket the fistfuls of dollars you shell out for the hot, bitter brew that helps you to function each morning. Isn’t that a hoot?

Drink up, sleepy ones. Then together, let’s go and get sh*t done.

Shower Karaoke (aka: Feel-Good Tunes)

When I was in the car yesterday, an old song came on the radio. The Greatest Love of All, by Whitney Houston. Naturally, I turned up the volume and belted it out along with Whitney.

THE GREAAAATEST LOOOOVE OF AAAAALLLLL IS EASY TO ACHIIIIIIIIEEEEVE!!!

It’s such a feel-good song. One of those songs that you can’t help but sing at the top of your lungs, even though you know perfectly well that your voice is nothing like Whitney Houston’s, and you’ll probably hit more sour notes than an American Idol reject. But still, the music starts, and your heart starts racing, and next thing you know, you’ve transformed into Whitney.

LEARNING TO LOOOVVVVE YOURSELF, IT IS THE GREAT-EST LOVE OF ALL!!

Easy A Pocket Full of Sunshine shower scene

Of course, it’s not always Whitney’s music that grabs you by the throat and compels you to break out singing even louder than your shower spray. It might be We are the Champions, by Queen. Or The Wind Beneath My Wings, by Bette Midler. Or Hero, by Mariah Carey. For the longest time, my instant karaoke favorite (when no one was listening) was Hold On, by Wilson Phillips.

I wonder whatever happened to those songs? The songs so rich with encouragement and self-appreciation that we all loved to sing them in the car (or in the shower, or at karaoke night after one drink too many). I guess Katy Perry’s Firework comes kind of close. Or Rachel Platten’s Fight Song. I’m even kind of fond of Meghan Trainor’s Me Too, despite the snottiness of the repeated verse (“If I was you, I’d wanna be me too…”).

Regardless of the song, or the singer, we have all experienced what it’s like to get a boost of positivity from music, whether we sing along or keep it in our own heads. Whoever you are, I dedicate to you the lyrics of the song you find the most uplifting. I hope that sometime this week, you get a chance to belt it out, and let the message fill you.

Wayne and Garth Bohemian Rhapsody

If you care to comment, please share one of your favorite solo karaoke songs.

Donut Holes (aka: Running at a Walk Pace)

CIM Start Line

Yesterday, I participated in a marathon for the first time ever. No, not a Netflix marathon. It was the California International Marathon  , a popular race where runners from around the globe came to try and qualify for the Boston Marathon, or the US Marathon Championship, or the Olympic trials, or the $20,000 first place prize (I wish). The race begins in Folsom (think gold country, Sierra Nevada foothills). Then it heads downhill, winds through my suburban neighborhood, and ends in front of the California State Capitol. 26.2 very long, exhausting miles.

Okay, fine, fine…I did not participate as a runner. I participated as a volunteer, handing out thousands of water bottles at the finish line. My thirteen year-old son was a volunteer, too. My sixteen year-old daughter was also a volunteer. But she was a volunteer runner. I didn’t even know that such a thing existed. She and some friends from her high school cross-country team signed up to be sag runners, who purposely run at the slowest possible pace in order to encourage the marathoners who are lagging at the rear.

Their plan was to run the first half of the marathon, then head home. But get this — halfway through the race, my daughter sends me a text: Hey mom, we’ve decided to run the whole thing!

That’s right. Those little girls ran the entire California International Marathon — on a whim.

marathon runners

Okay, well, they sort of ran it. Mostly, they ran so slowly, it was practically a walking pace. And occasionally, they walked at a walking pace, too. They also sang songs, talked, and called out words of encouragement to the many runners they came across. Runners who had trained hard to meet their goal of finishing a marathon. Runners who were exhausted and discouraged, but were perked up by the little group of slow-running cheerleaders with their huge grins and a bag of donut holes.

I kid you not. Donut holes. Which they munched every few miles or so, and even passed out to fellow runners to lift their spirits. Like marathon Christmas elves.

Meanwhile, back at the finish line, my son and I got to be among the first faces to greet the thousands of marathon runners as they staggered zombie-like past the finish line, hugging their medals and temporary hoodie jackets.

“Thanks so much,” they often said as they took a water bottle from our table. “Thanks for volunteering.”

“We’re happy to help,” I responded back. And it’s true. I was seeing the end result of people who had just accomplished what, for them, was a dream. Maybe it was to become an Olympic athlete or national champion. Maybe it was to run ten marathons in ten years, or to race side by side with a loved one, or a best friend. Or maybe, their huge goal, the one they’d worked so hard and so long for, was simply to finish. Nothing made me happier than to be in a role where I could see and help those people to achieve their dream.

CIM 35th Sacramento Capitol

My son felt the same way. And so did my daughter. She and her friends, the courageous little group of shepherds, finally brought their flock home to the finish line, where I was waiting with huge hugs…and water bottles. I was so proud of both my kids! For being such enthusiastic people helpers, for finishing an actual marathon (in two very different ways), and for literally going the extra mile.