Kimberlee K.

When I was little, my sister and I shared a room. Our twin beds sat against opposite walls, sandwiching a window in between, and each morning our mom would come in to wake us up by opening the curtains and saying, “there’s your day!”

Often, in the haze of the morning and the frustration of having to get up for school, these words were devastating. They accompanied the onslaught of the California sunshine that was always “too bright!!”, they pulled me out of the REM cycle that persisted even as our Nickelodeon alarm clock played a slew of cartoon sound effects at full volume, they meant I had to get up and get dressed—a task that, at that time, often resulted in tears—and they meant that it wasn’t a weekend, when I could wake up in my own time and then hurry into the living room to play Zelda on my Nintendo 64.

I know there were many, many occasions when I responded to these words with a harumph, a quick roll towards the wall, and perhaps even an audible groan. It was hard, after all, waking up to go to third grade.

Nevertheless, this declaration became a staple of my childhood.

It was a predictable part of my routine, a guidepost in the world created for me and my siblings by our parents. It was our suburban equivalent to a rooster crowing or a dinner bell being rung.

As we got older, the phrase remained in our family vernacular.

When we stayed in hotels on vacation, one of us would occasionally clamber over the queen beds and the sleeping bag on the floor, our hair sticking up in every direction as we pulled back the curtains to reveal the unfamiliar city and say, “there’s your day!” It would always elicit giggles and squinted eyes, a yawn and the occasional growl of a stomach.

When my sister and I moved into our own place, while we didn’t always say the words out loud, the two of us admitted thinking them each time we opened the shutters in our bedrooms and the vertical blinds in front of our sliding back door.

There’s your day.

And now, even as I live on my own, the first thing I do after getting out of bed is open the blinds. I crave those familiar, yet suspenseful few seconds that come after the announcement in my head; crave an answer to the question they answer in its wake.

“There’s your day, what does it look like?”

Is the sun shining? Will it create shadows on my knotted sheets and instantly put a skip in my step? Or will an overcast sky add only the slightest dash of grey light to my otherwise dark room, inviting me to light candles and pull out the warm blanket from the basket? Will the wind be rustling the tall bushes down below, or will rain be making the night’s puddles dance on the concrete? What’s out there? What’s on the other side of my wall?

There’s your day.

The words hit a little deeper now as I listen to them more closely. They invite me into the reality of not just another day, but a continued life.

There’s your day. You’ve been blessed with another one and you never know what it might hold.

There’s your day, it’s right out there for you to take, and it’s got a lot of beauty to be found in it.

There’s your day, it might be a tough one, but you can get through it.

There’s your day, you made it through a long night and now there’s new possibility on the horizon.

There’s your day, go see what it’s all about.