I’m traveling up the Hudson River by train this morning from New York City to Saratoga Springs.
To say that I’m feeling footloose is not to fully appreciate how free I feel in mind and spirit. Perhaps it’s because I have two days off as a celebration of sorts: I’ve been invited to speak at my college to the incoming group of graduate students about writing the final project. I’ll also do a small presentation on my thesis, Boundaries in Motion: Women’s Boxing. It’s a lovely honor, one that I truly appreciate. Beyond that it means I get to talk about the wonders of women’s boxing as a metaphor for perseverance, hard work and effort, and the feeling of accomplishment that one can have at attaining a goal.
I also appreciate that it’s a good thing to revel in one’s own accomplishments from time to time. So this is a bit of an “atta’ girl” to myself, which I figure that all of us need from time to time. Meanwhile, I’ll get to hang out at the indoor pool or tool around the town of Saratoga Springs while the students are busy having their minds blown with all the dawn till midnight roster of activities that graduate school residencies are famous for.
I am talking true post-grad heaven here.
Otherwise, it’s on to the next goal! Crunches on the train!
Not that I want to complain or anything, but if you live in Brooklyn, NY and wake-up at 6:00 AM, you’re waking up in the dark. Okay, true, most northern cities around the planet experience this as a regular feature of the winter months, but it doesn’t make it any more palatable.
So why am I up? Well work for one, but more so to find the time for sit-ups and crunches, shadowing boxing, sun salutations, and in general gaining some moments before the rush of the day. That it’s all in the dark gives this time a bit of mystery. As if I were an acolyte of Nyx, the Greek Goddess of Night, reveling in the time before Helios makes his way across the sky in his golden chariot.
Waking up in the dark also seems to push one’s sense of purpose; as if in wrenching oneself from what otherwise feels so natural, one has made a bold statement of the importance of the time before morning. Sure, it is morning by the clock, but the body remains in revolt, at least mine does. And even as I make my moves around the living room, I keep looking out the window in the hopes of connecting myself with the first rays of morning light — recognizing that I will only find myself tune with the a natural order of things at that moment when I spy Homer’s “rosy fingered dawn.”