When asked how his day was going, my late dear friend Johnnie – an inveterate achiever – routinely responded, “Well, I got up…”. Then followed a summary review of whatever he had done to that point during the day including the less mundane details of any estimated accomplishment. Johnnie was an unabashed alcoholic. He died devotedly addlepated. Yet even in his latest stage of confusion, he remained succinct and polite. His existential existence – in spite of its incontrovertible loneliness – commanded a credit of achievement.

Getting out of bed each morning is a feat not to be shrugged off. Reportedly a well known satirist living in Paris often bemoaned his fate while lying in bed until late in the morning – to which his dutiful housekeeper replied, “Get out of bed and write another play to pay the rent!” Getting out of bed is a preliminary performance of inescapable consequence on the scale of human conduct. Nor, I estimate, is the prerequisite especially easy for any one of us.  Certainly there must abound somewhere about the globe those who rebound from the lair as though it were a common matutinal springboard; but my experience and motive is different. I am of the opinion that the destitution of modern man requires its elevation.

Sartre held an open relationship with prominent feminist and fellow existentialist philosopher Simone de Beauvoir. Together, Sartre and de Beauvoir challenged the cultural and social assumptions and expectations of their upbringings, which they considered bourgeois, in both lifestyles and thought.

For most of my life I have never slept well.  My mind – from the moment my head hits the pillows at night – is consumed by a summary of the prior day’s events from which I seek to derive significance.  And when I awake – either early or reluctantly – I again pick up the thread of last night’s rumination. Usually unable to project the mangled analysis into anything intelligent or dispirited, I turn over in bed and attempt to dismiss the obsession. What is more likely and predictable, I face the necessity. It is the usual direction to get up without the benefit of logic or argument.

Today marks the middle of the holiday weekend before Canada Day on July 1st. As I earlier expressed authentically to my beloved partner, I am pleased that today is so magnificently beautiful – that those yet ensnared by the chains of weekday employment have this inexpressibly lovely day to devote to their chosen indulgences, whether boating, barbecuing, walking or socializing of any other description. Having done so myself (and in my own admittedly modest way), I am now permitted to observe the broader narrative and implications of this unparalleled euphoria. The wavering – and hourly mounting – corn stalks invite a wealth of nostalgia and simple beauty. The river flows with its quiet majesty and poetic influence. The horizon is an unfettered palette of white, blue and gold.

My partner and I have long ago adopted the custom of preserving ourselves privately and independently from holiday madness. This morning – when I awoke to the sun beaming through the blinds – I withheld my customary mania for psychology and instead accepted the traditional and less provocative success of simply getting out of bed.  And from the moment I did so, today has been one of those successful endeavours – almost annoyingly fortuitous, impossibly adventitious at every turn.

In deference to Johnnie’s heartfelt example, I have characterized the day with every custom of personal enhancement, the patently routine syllabus affirming those simple but noteworthy expeditions. Capitalizing upon what is at hand – what we know from tradition to be both imperative and sustainable – is the first mandate. It is as relieving as getting out of bed in the first place, embracing the indisputable colour of life without knowing the difference or consequence, the conviction to unrestrained purpose.

There is however no disputing the incomparable compatibility of the day. Every view is a canvass of perfection.  The strength of the verdant and compelling day is overwhelming. The birds tweet more sonorously than normal; the clear, dry air is more imposing than usual; the temperature is a convenient alloy of warmth and freshness. We have already proposed our early Sunday morning outing – to capture as much as we can of the ineffable day that awaits, the blessing of fate, the ineluctable advantage of chance time and space.