I'm obsessed with radio. It's a good start to Sunday morning.

R. L. Stine, the teller of ghostly tales and weaver of childhood chills, once confessed with almost childlike joy: “I’m obsessed with radio. It’s a good start to Sunday morning.” Though the words appear simple, they carry the weight of ritual, of memory, and of the human yearning for a voice in the silence. For in the radio, Stine finds not just entertainment, but companionship, rhythm, and the steady voice that greets the dawn of a sacred day.

The ancients, too, honored the morning with ritual. Before the sun had fully risen, Greeks sang hymns to Apollo, Romans lit fires at their household shrines, and monks in later centuries filled abbeys with chants. In each of these acts, the morning was not an empty threshold, but a sacred passage into the day. Stine, in his modern way, echoes the same wisdom: to begin with a voice, with story, with music carried over invisible waves, is to awaken not merely the body, but the soul.

To be obsessed with the radio is to remember its power. Before the age of screens and constant digital noise, radio was the heartbeat of the world. Families gathered around it to hear the news of war and peace, to listen to presidents speak, to be uplifted by music, to be carried away by stories. In Britain during the Second World War, Churchill’s words over the air became as vital as bread, strengthening a people battered by bombs. The radio was not just a machine; it was a lifeline, a thread of human connection stretched across distance.

Stine’s devotion to the Sunday morning ritual reminds us of the need for rhythm in life. Sunday has always been the day of rest, of reflection, of stepping aside from the burden of toil. To begin it with the radio is to tune one’s spirit to a gentler frequency, to let music or voice prepare the soul for the hours of peace ahead. It is not merely pastime, but preparation — a soft awakening before the storm of the week.

His words also reveal something deeper about the human heart: that we crave voices in silence. In the stillness of the morning, the radio becomes a companion, whispering news, songs, or stories, reminding us that we are not alone. Just as travelers in the ancient world welcomed the storyteller at the hearth, so too do we welcome the unseen speaker over the airwaves. Stine’s obsession is thus not trivial, but a recognition of something eternal — the healing power of voice.

What, then, is the lesson? It is this: guard your beginnings. The way you start the day sets the rhythm of the hours that follow. If your morning is filled with anxiety, the day will carry its shadow. If your morning is filled with beauty, the day will shine. Find your own ritual, as Stine found his in the radio. It may be music, prayer, silence, or story — but let it be something that awakens not only the body, but the heart.

So, O seekers of wisdom, remember R. L. Stine’s joyful confession: “I’m obsessed with radio. It’s a good start to Sunday morning.” See in it not only a personal habit, but a timeless truth — that the voice we choose to hear at dawn shapes the soul we carry through the day. Begin with harmony, begin with beauty, begin with wisdom, and the day itself will be a song that carries you forward with strength and peace.