All in all our mornings are quite peaceful. Which feels like a luxury when the world around us feels unending chaos. They’re earlier than I would like, but the darkness of early dawn offers a stillness in a world, otherwise kinetic, that I choose to savor as a human—much less a mother. As book lovers, we’ve made it a point to read to him early. Starting with classics: The Rainbow Fish, Where The Wild Things Are, and Goodnight Moon. He’d often lose interest, or fall asleep, quite quickly. This one is different.

All too often, we rush to the next milestone. Scored by “I can’t wait,” “wait until,” and “just wait.” As though the present is a waiting room between where you were and wish you could be. Is it possible that the dream we’re waiting for is hiding in brief moments of breath?

What if the magic of a new year is in the unknowing? The permission for whimsy. The beauty in the unfolding.