RECENTLY a Harvard professor was on one of my favorite podcasts, Modern Wisdom. His advice to young people trying to discover what to do with their lives was to walk outside before the sun comes up. I read a comment saying something like, that’s terrible advice.

The kid who commented wanted something practical, and I get that. It’s no cakewalk figuring out what to do with your life. But I think he missed the point, and today, I realized why.

I step outside at 4:30 am; the sky is pink with clouds unfurling like a rolling blanket above the glowing cityscape, gray and blue and gold.

Cicadas hum in the trees, the heartbeat of summer; the moon, tsuki, sits overhead, half in shadow, a veil of unknown, half soft and gleaming and held in the mid-summer sky. It’s been too long since I’ve seen the moon, my guide.

The sun begins to rise, and the sky is pink in a different way than dusk — the things that occupy our days have yet to begin; I’m in a semi-dream-state, and that’s reflected in the magic of the sky; I’m fresh, as opposed to tired; my eyes are opening, not closing.

The morning is quiet, empty. I stand there for a while, admiring the moon. I think this is what the professor meant. The walk before the sun comes up is life — a slice of life we seldom know.

He’s not saying that getting up and walking at 4:30 in the morning will show us exactly what we should do.

He’s saying that by getting up and doing something abnormal, we’re taking control of life before life takes control of us. While walking, I’m thinking about how beautiful the world is, because I can’t help but think that if my eyes are open at this time.

Maybe we ponder what matters to us before we’re bombarded with the noise of the day. Maybe we contemplate beauty, and love, and the meaning of light. Maybe life is simplified. I think that’s the point.

The more we simplify, the more we see the truth. At this time, we meditate on what matters. What’s essential gains clarity.

I feel tremendous change. Like I’m in charge of my destiny — no pain holding me back anymore. It’s all happening exactly as it’s meant to, in ways I simply can’t comprehend.

Don’t fear it. Any of it. It’s just a matter of time before the puzzle pieces fall into place. So much love flowing around and through me. We are love; no more regret or needless suffering — it’s time to thrive.

I don’t know if I could have arrived at this moment without having been through years of confusion. But I just kept moving forward. Like walking before the sun comes up, we have to go through the darkness to grasp the depth of the light.

The moon’s looking down on me. What does she see? Space dust delicate as crushed glass, the matter of a fallen star streaking through the cosmos; what does she see — the truth of my being — a seed of cosmic creation, instilled with a beating heart, its sound echoing through the universe, yet heard only when the world goes silent.

Still, the moon sees me; in the silence I see myself, hear myself, the wind an aeolian symphony coursing through the mountains of my breath, my body wilderness, my soul boundless, reaching beyond our terrestrial awareness; what does the moon see?

Half or all or a semblance of my light — like her, I stand veiled in shadow, eclipsed by past mistakes and the depths of self I hope never see the light of day — yet my past acts as daylight, for, as the sun rises, these parts of self are there to help us recognize who we long to be if we’re willing to change, just as the rays of the sun which shine on us in the morning.

The moon sees not only what she wants to see; she sees all of me, shining despite my darkness; no — like her, shining that much more because of the darkness.

The moon shines fully in the night. The past has passed and morning’s come. Still, I shine. What does the moon see? Looking down, she sees us shining; no matter what we’ve been through, she sees us shining, too.