The Good Kind Of Emptiness

Today I had the privilege of waking up at 5:00am. Ha.
I literally fell out of bed, strangled my alarm clock trying to locate the off switch (not the snooze button), and then stumbled into the bathroom. I stood in the hot shower for probably half an hour. My shoulders were in knots, my head was still waking up, and my eyes still weren't ready to open. By the time I got out, my toes could've qualified as prunes, but my head was a little clearer. I finished getting ready and was out the door at 6:15am on my way to Starbucks.

The only time I can ever remember the streets being so empty was the time we left for Boston as a kid. Roadtrips for us usually began at 4:00am so we could "beat the rush." I have many memories of being sandwiched between two pillows and a pile of blankets in the back seat of our Buick with my teeth chattering in the early morning chill. This morning was similar, with the exception of the blankets and pillows. The streets were so barren, I felt like I had the world to myself.

Raise your hand if you talk to yourself in the car. Or pray in the car. Or sing in the car. Or say something out loud in the car, just for the mere fun of knowing you're alone and there's no one around to hear you say it. Yeah. I do this frequently. And there's only a smidgen of self-conciousness about it usually because even if they can't hear you, the people in the cars around you are probably wondering what you're talking about... and odds are they're staring at you.

Well, this morning, me and myself in the car were quite alone. There was no one around to watch and wonder what the heck I was saying. It was a good kind of emptiness. Some very quiet moments alone, really alone, to say what I needed to say, and hear what I wanted someone to hear. It felt good.

The next few weeks of 5:00ams maybe won't be so bad.