In the RV, the morning is my time.
I’m up first, always. Usually an hour or more before everyone else. I make the coffee. It’s quiet and I try to keep it quiet. It’s almost always a peaceful time, even in a place like a noisy Walmart parking lot. On any given day, we can put our house anywhere, and when I’m the only one awake I’m lord of that place. It feels safe and right-sized. I listen to the birds or the semis idle. I think.
I think: How did people measure linear distance over a span of land that’s not flat before modern surveying equipment? Why do flies land on horses and cows, just because they are attracted to the smell or are they feeding somehow? The generator’s carburetor can’t be that hard to clean, right? How does lightning happen, is it kind of like static electricity on a grand scale? If I was a God, would I create humanity just so something would worship me? Isn’t that conceited, or needy? What is the minimal set of clothes which can produce the maximum set of outfits?
Lately, I also think: Are we doing the right thing? Have I modeled the numbers accurately? Am I being selfish? How will this change us, change everything? Will the kids adjust OK? Are we doing right by family? Will Sharaun hate it? Am I going to be able to perform, to meet expectations? Will I like it?
Mornings are my time.