Aubade #1 – Wake Up, You Motherfucker!
The Nocturnes are over. That series of nocturnal ramblings, existential garbage, and sleepless monologues lost in self-reflection is cancelled. The curtain has fallen, the credits have rolled. And that guy, the one who sat down at his keyboard every evening to pour his chaos into the digital world, died peacefully and simply along with the final Nocturne.
Today is morning (as I write this), and this isn’t just another morning. This is a premiere!
This is the first episode of the second season of my life’s series.
Morning has always been my reset button. If night turned my mind into a chaotic, no-budget arthouse film, morning is a clean slate, an empty editing desk where I can assemble something new, interesting, and full of hope from the previous night’s nightmares.
I love this moment, I love those primal, random, yet utterly honest thoughts, still dazed from sleep. Emptied of the previous day’s problems, I can feel how those problems, having gone nowhere, return from nowhere, settling back into their groove calmly and unhurriedly. (By the way, you can clearly feel from the title how devoid of politeness I am in the mornings…) . Still, morning rocks! The smell of natural tea, the coolness drifting in through the window, and that feeling of having the whole day ahead – 16 hours of potential.
16 hours to be better than yesterday. To run until your lungs ache; To work on that idea that seemed like just a vague shadow in the night; To finally do what you’ve been promising yourself for so long.
The idea for these Aubades was born from this.
I want to come alive. I want my day to start not with thoughts about how pointless everything is, but with enthusiasm about how awesome it can become. I want to simply leave no room for dark thoughts. Let the sunlight burn away all those parasites that have nested in the dark corners of my mind.
And let’s be honest, let’s critique that first season a bit.
Those Nocturnes? Yeah, they were necessary. Just like a fever is necessary to realize you’re sick. They were my thermometer, my psychological graffiti that I painted on the walls of my own soul. But let’s admit it – those texts were written in darkness, fed by melancholy, and often, were just one big, beautifully packaged whine. He was a failed romantic pilot, flying at night with a broken compass, jotting down his impressions in the flight log.
But morning is different. Morning is pragmatic. Morning has no time for poetic suffering. Morning demands action.
Therefore, this new series, “Aubades,” will be about something else. It won’t be about what I think, but about what I do. It will be about small steps, daily victories (even if that victory is just getting up early), new discoveries, and the constant reminder that the main thing isn’t reaching the goal, but the process itself, the path, the attempt.
These writings don’t have a specific goal now either. I’m not writing to teach anyone anything or to impress anyone. I write because I enjoy the process. This will be a kind of self-report on my own experiences, unfiltered thoughts on everything.
So, if the previous season was existential whiskey before bed, this season will be creative espresso in the morning.
Welcome to season two!