I haven’t always been a morning person. God knows. When I was a young man I was anti-morning-people. Morning people were insane. My mother was a morning person.

As a boy, I’d awake to find my mother already in the living room, snuggled beneath a lamp, where she’d been reading for hours. The cat in her lap would just stare at me with moral disapproval.

“There will come a day,” Mama would say, “when you won’t sleep as good as you do now.”

My mother evidently put a curse on me. Because I get up early now. I didn’t CHOOSE to begin rising at 4 a.m. every morning. I have no reason to awake early. I am not a farmer. But my brain decided, years ago, that no matter what time I go to bed, I’ll be up with the chickens.

At first I resisted early rising. I did NOT want to be the kind of dork who got up at 4 a.m. to water ferns and take inventory of his commemorative Dale Earnhardt stamp collection. But there you are.

Thus, each morning, my wife arises at 8:30 a.m. to find me on the porch, tapping away on a laptop. The cat on my lap just stares at her.

Also, I’m not sure when I started cooking, but I do that now, too. Lately, I’ve become the interim cook in our household. I’m not a great cook, mind you. My specialty dish is something my wife calls “chicken sushi.”

But I’ve found myself enjoying the culinary side of life. I read cookbooks for fun. I watch cooking shows and use words like “al dente” with a straight face.

Last night for supper, I made chicken and dumplings. A few nights before, scalloped potato casserole and banana cream pie.

My wife—God love her—who actually KNOWS how to cook, is gracious with my gastronomical experimentation. She’ll take a bite, dab her mouth primly with a napkin, and say, “I’ve never had blackened cheese casserole before.”

Something else I do now is walk. I’ve never been a huge walker. Used to, I’d see older couples power walking in the mall, and I’d think to myself, “That will never be me.”

But I’ve started going on walks. I leave the house without a destination. And I just walk.

As I walk, I find myself praying. Which is also weird. Because that’s DEFINITELY something I never did as a young guy. I was never big on praying. But I do it all the time now.

Usually, I pray for people I love. I pray they finally figure out who the heck they are. God knows, I never did.

I pray they are uncommonly strong. I pray that whatever they are facing, they win. And I pray they’ll realize that everything will work out when it’s all over. If it hasn’t worked out yet, then it ain’t over.

When I arrive back home, it’s almost time to start supper, and I’m almost ready for bed even though it’s still daylight.

The cat sitting on the porch steps is staring at me. The cat is trying to tell me to hurry up and get busy. Time is ticking. Life is short.

And we have an early morning tomorrow.

Author, artist, columnist, storyteller, accordion player, musician and lover of Mayberry, peanuts and dogs Sean Dietrich is better known as Sean of the South. He can be reached through SeanDietrich.com.