When you see someone at 6 in the morning with a smile on their

Justin Hartley once observed with a keen eye for truth: “When you see someone at 6 in the morning with a smile on their face, you know they're having fun.” These words, though simple, strike like an arrow into the heart of wisdom. For they remind us that joy is not measured by ease or convenience, but by passion so great that even in the cold, early hours, it overflows from the soul in the form of a smile. At dawn, when the world still slumbers and labor weighs heavy, only true delight can bring light to a person’s face.

The ancients would have seen this as a measure of authenticity. A forced smile is easy to wear at midday, when crowds watch and duty calls. But the smile at dawn—the smile before the world has awakened—is the mark of genuine love for what one does. The Greek philosophers taught that happiness (eudaimonia) is found in living in harmony with one’s deepest calling. Hartley’s words reflect this truth: when joy remains even in discomfort, when one rises before the sun with eagerness instead of dread, then that joy is not a mask but a true reflection of the heart.

Consider the story of Thomas Edison, who often worked through the night into the earliest hours of morning. Visitors would sometimes find him exhausted, hair wild, clothes wrinkled, but with a boyish grin as he tinkered with his inventions. For him, the darkness of the hour did not matter; the light of his passion burned brighter. That smile at 6 in the morning was proof that his labor was not drudgery but play, not torment but delight. Like Hartley’s observation, it teaches us that when the spirit is aflame, even the hardest hours become joyous.

The image also carries the wisdom of contrast. For most people, 6 a.m. is a time of reluctance, of yawns, of weariness. To find a smile in that hour is rare, and rarity itself is proof of sincerity. It is in hardship, not ease, that the truth of one’s spirit is revealed. Just as soldiers who laugh in the face of battle show their courage, or monks who rise joyfully before dawn show their devotion, so too the early morning smile reveals not mere amusement but a heart aligned with purpose.

This lesson transcends time and culture. In Japan, the samurai were known to train at dawn, their faces serene despite the rigors of discipline. In ancient monasteries, chants at sunrise were performed with radiant calm, for the monks believed that joy at dawn sanctified the rest of the day. Across history, the earliest hours have tested the sincerity of devotion, whether to God, to art, to craft, or to labor. And always, it is the smile in that hour that tells the world: “This is not duty alone—this is love.”

Hartley’s words are thus both a mirror and a challenge. They ask us: what in your life brings you such joy that you would rise early, endure hardship, and still smile? If you cannot find such a thing, then perhaps you have not yet discovered your true calling. The smile at dawn is the soul’s compass, pointing you toward what is real, what is worth your devotion, what will sustain you even in weariness.

So, my children, let this be your wisdom: do not chase only what brings comfort, but seek what brings the smile at 6 a.m. Find the passion that stirs you so deeply that even fatigue cannot erase your joy. For when you live in this way, you will not only endure life—you will embrace it, rising each day with eagerness, as though each dawn were a gift. And then, like the sages and inventors before you, your smile will testify that you are not merely alive, but truly living.