The Longest Day

Tomorrow is the summer solstice.

The longest day of the year.

Living in Las Vegas, I notice the light before most people are awake.

My dogs prefer the coolness of the night, so by sunrise they are tired and content, stretched out nearby while I settle into my chair with mushroom coffee, paper, and paint.

This ritual is new.

For decades, my mornings belonged to whatever came next. The responsibilities. The deadlines. The workday waiting at 7 a.m.

I still have that workday.

I still sit at a desk.

I still spend my days solving problems and doing work I know well.

But something has changed.

Before the day begins, I have a small pocket of time that belongs entirely to me.

And I’ve realized that freedom isn’t always what we think it is.

For a long time, I thought freedom would arrive when I had more time.

When life slowed down.

When circumstances changed.

Instead, freedom arrived when I remembered I could choose how to meet the day.

Not control it.

Not optimize it.

Create it.

Each morning I sit outside as the sun rises over the desert and ask a simple question:

How do I want to live today?

Not someday.

Today.

The answer isn’t usually dramatic.

Sometimes it is curiosity.

Sometimes it is creativity.

Sometimes it is simply presence.

But the act of choosing changes everything.

The older I get, the more I believe our lives are shaped less by the years behind us and more by the decisions we make in ordinary moments.

A sunrise.

A chair.

A blank page.

A quiet choice.

Tomorrow will be the longest day of the year.

The sun will give us more light than any other day.

But perhaps the more interesting question is this:

What part of you has been waiting for a little more light?

Not permission.

Not certainty.

Just enough light to take one small step toward the person you are becoming.

Pause there for a moment.

You may already know the answer.

☀️