Optimists understand that the great glory of living lies in the fact that the sun will come up the next day. Sounds pretty simple. The deeper meaning is that optimists know the value of starting anew--that despite setbacks, shortcomings, and missteps, it's never too late to try again. The sun always rises. And lately, it's risen even earlier.
On the day after Daylight Saving Time ended, I launched into a morning run. For the past several weeks, the sky had been tar-colored and foreboding. It's hard to get out of bed on those days. But that Monday morning two weeks ago, I ran east on Kavanaugh Boulevard and into the first glowing embers of the rising sun. Steps taken toward any source of light reverberate with echoes of hope.
Seize the day. That refrain, "carpe diem," became the most spoken Latin words in the early '90s. I was finishing up my freshman year in college when Robin Williams' movie "Dead Poets Society" came out and, like many, I found myself energized by the pairing of those words so brilliantly in cinematic elegance.
They just fit. Seize the day. Not to be mistaken as a suggestion, it's a call to arms, a battle cry. Don't let the day pass into night without fighting to fill every hour, every minute. Live life remarkably, fully, wonderfully.
But then, isolation became the rule. This year had barely started when suddenly, we were told to act the opposite of carpe diem. Pause life. It became necessary to quarantine, to pull back. Instead of plucking the full force of the day, we fell into isolation. The threat of the pandemic's spread worked directly against the very best remedies for social ills, for positive interaction.
There's a great scene in "Dead Poets Society" where Robin Williams' character takes his students outside and has them march in a square. In just moments, the boys' steps echo in unison off the stone pavement as they unconsciously sync their movements and, figuratively, their thoughts. Williams' character used this visual to teach the value of non-conformity, the essence of avoiding group-think. But today, that lesson seems magnified in more than just literary or political ways.
It seems that today, that lesson could lead us to join in a march against the current culture of anger and isolation. Within that lesson, we could refuse to conform to a pessimistic view of the world, to conform so freely to maddening words and the darkness of loneliness. Could it be true that non-conformity today would be encapsulated in optimism? In walking outside of the perimeter of nagging critics who say the world is awful?
One great lesson of this pandemic is that isolation of the body and isolation of self are two very different things. Isolation of the body is necessary to prevent the spread of a deadly disease. Isolation of self is never necessary; it's never necessary to surrender to the disease of pessimism.
One of the most optimistic morning rites lies within those people who arise and complete this thought: "Today I am for ..."
Imagine if we all awakened and vocally embraced a cause. Imagine if before planting our feet on the floor, we articulated for what we would stand that day. Imagine if standing became more than just a physical act, but a figurative call to arms. Imagine if the morning hours filled with whispers of: "Today, I am for my co-worker who is experiencing a divorce."
"Today, I am for my neighbor who is ill."
"Today, I am for bringing order to the chaos of my home."
"Today, I am for you."
Isolation of the body is oftentimes duty right now. Isolation of self? Never. Today, I am for my country, for my community, for my fellow man.
Rain seems more prevalent in autumn months when the sky darkens early and isolation seems obvious. Rain feels more painful then, cloud cover a taunt, and cold becomes spirit-piercing.
But then that sun rises on one of those beautiful mornings. It pulls us out and beckons us to move forward. On my recent neighborhood run, I could feel its warmth seeping from the pavement, rising forth like heat from an old floor furnace.
Running toward light is a good way to start the day, to gauge where to begin. And then, after a hard day's work, after filling the hours completely and fully, we can witness the sun as it slowly sets. It falls in respect to all who gave their best, who worked and toiled, who loved and laughed.
On those days, the sun seems to pause before it dips behind the horizon. It pauses in silent genuflection to those who seized the day.
--–––––v–––––--
Steve Straessle, whose column appears every other Saturday, is the principal of Little Rock Catholic High School for Boys. You can reach him at sstraessle@lrchs.org. Find him on Twitter @steve_straessle.
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Seize the day - Arkansas Online
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