SUN BEFORE SCREENS
A story about how small disciplines shape a life.
When Hesvitha moved to the city for her new job, everything about her life felt efficient—scheduled down to the minute, synced to her devices, auto-updated and always on. Yet, after a few months, she noticed something odd: she was constantly tired. No matter how long she slept, her mornings felt heavy, her thoughts fuzzy, her moods unpredictable.
She’d wake up, check her phone for messages, scroll through headlines, and open her email before her feet touched the floor. Her first light of the day came from her screen.
One morning, while waiting for the elevator, she met Dr. Schinda , an older neighbor with bright eyes and calm energy. He carried no phone, just a small cup of tea and a smile.
“You look tired,” he said gently.
Hesvitha laughed. “That obvious?”
He nodded. “Try this—tomorrow, don’t start with your phone. Start with the sun.”
“The sun?” she frowned. “I’m not exactly a morning jogger.”
“You don’t need to run. Just step outside. Let your body remember who’s in charge.”
The next day, out of mild curiosity, she left her phone charging on the table and stepped onto the terrace. The city was still half asleep, bathed in soft gold. The air was cool, and a few birds crossed the pale sky. She stood there, barefoot, feeling silly—and then peaceful.
Her shoulders dropped, her breath evened. She thought about nothing in particular, and when she finally came back inside, her mind felt … lighter.
It became her quiet ritual.
Every morning before screens, before chatter, before caffeine—just sun. Five minutes grew to fifteen. Sometimes she stretched, sometimes she simply watched the light change color. Her phone could wait.
Weeks passed, and subtle things began to shift:
She started waking up before the alarm. Her appetite stabilized; her skin looked clearer. Tasks at work felt less like battles and more like dances. Her temper shortened less often, her evenings calmed themselves without effort.
She began to sense that discipline wasn’t a chain—it was a rhythm. The same rhythm the sun kept faithfully, whether or not anyone noticed.
Soon, other habits naturally aligned. She tidied her room before bed, drank water instead of another cup of coffee, and journaled instead of scrolling. The cleaner order around her echoed inside her mind.
Her friends teased her about her “old-fashioned sunrise club,” but they also noticed her steady energy. “What’s your secret?” one colleague asked between meetings.
Hesvitha smiled. “Nothing fancy. Just starting my day the way my cells expect me to.”
Months later, on a visit home, her mother looked at her daughter—standing barefoot in the courtyard, eyes closed to the morning sky—and felt pride. The same girl who once rushed through everything now stood still, grounded.
Hesvitha whispered to herself: “Signal before noise. Source before screens.”
And in that moment, she understood—health wasn’t just about food or exercise. It was about respect: for light, for time, for the quiet codes that shape both mind and body.
When we align with those natural signals, our days don’t control us—we conduct them.
Moral:
Discipline begins with one simple choice repeated daily. Step into sunlight before stepping into the world. In honoring your body’s rhythm, you illuminate not only your health—but also the person you become.
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