Good morning, good day

My friend and neighbor Tom Fitzpatrick, who produces the Globe’s Reflection for the Day, posted this Swahili proverb in yesterday’s paper: “A good day reveals itself by morning.”

At first, I quailed a bit when I read that, because it seemed to suggest that if a morning is not so good, forget about it – there’s no way to redeem the day. And I don’t want to develop that mindset, because surely it’s not always true: a difficult morning can still turn into a good day, can’t it? As if to reassure me – psychically, as it turns out, since I hadn’t shared this concern – my niece, Sophie, posted on Facebook before the end of the day that she “was having a yucky day, but then it totally turned around tonight when I made myself do something I didn't want to.”

I think both of them – the Swahili proverb-makers and my niece – are right some of the time. A good day often is one that’s already clearly on track before the morning is over…but a bad day can still turn itself around.

What feels more relevant to me is the corrolary: a good morning often paves the way to a good day. With the school year under way once again, I’m back on a morning schedule I love. I get up early so that I don’t have to rush through the kids’ breakfasts. Once both of them have eaten, Tim rides his bike to the bus stop, Holly heads upstairs to dress, Rick leaves for work, and I cross the pasture to the barnyard and let the sheep out to graze. The dog accompanies me, dashing across the fields or just nosing around the brook, depending on where a flash of movement first catches her eye.

After Holly climbs onto the bus, I hit the footpath for my daily run. It turns out this is a perfect time of day for me to run. Not so much physically but mentally. When I run just as Holly is heading to school, it’s like a physical transition between caring for other people – waking them up, feeding them, keeping them on schedule so as not to be late for school – and spending the next six hours by myself, writing. I say goodbye to her and then by turn my focus inward as I run: nothing demanding my attention but the need to propel myself forward along the footpath. First the quiet section next to the fields my father mows in the summer; then briefly into the woods by the day lily nursery; across Bedford Rd. and into the Center. I pass near the school at 8:55, just five minutes after class has started for Holly and an hour into Tim’s day; I picture both of them already immersed in classroom projects and discussions before I pass onward toward Concord St. and then turn around at Clark Farm to head back.

And then once I’m home, with my simple two-mile run done, it’s time to wash the breakfast dishes, brew the coffee and get to work. Writing is harder for me than running, but getting the run over with early somehow makes me feel like I’ve already slain some dragons. Running isn’t hard, but it gives a concrete sense of accomplishment in a way that neither household responsibilities nor writing necessarily transmit. I did my run; I can surely write this profile, I tell myself. Writing is just sitting here putting words together. Surely you can do that.

So I think the proverb makes sense. A good day may reveal itself by morning; a good morning often portends a pleasurable and productive day. On the other hand as Sophie said, there’s no reason to believe les jeux sont fait if it’s not such a good morning. I currently have a morning routine so enjoyable that the day to follow tends to be fulfilling as well, though. Like a nutritious breakfast, though it doesn’t guarantee a good day to follow, it definitely seems to provide an auspicious start.