I get up early most days and sometimes way earlier than I need. Today I need to leave the house at 6:10 or so to go coach. Yet I’ve been up since 4:17. I know this because I set ridiculously timed alarms. 4:17, 4:27,5:13,2:41 (afternoon naps). I start coffee then feed the dogs and then I do a perfunctory scroll through the internet. Mostly I get up because I feel like I’m stealing time.
Most everyone enjoys the quiet. For me the quiet in the dark is even better. It’s like secret time. A fort I built in the woods that no one knows about to escape to.
When I was a kid we had an attic you could just walk into like a bedroom. A short set of stairs and you were in a full room. I loved that attic. I set up a place behind four or five upright wardrobe boxes we used when we moved to Mississippi. A small table and a kids sized rocking chair up there to sit and play and be alone. Hidden from the rest of the attic. Secret.
The attic also had reminders of Michigan. Ice skates we’d never use again. Old photo albums and other odds and ins. A wooden toboggan hanging from the rafters, because surely we’d get around to using that again one day. My old stuffed animals. A historical catch all of my early youth, of my family. A grenade and bayonet from my grandfathers WWII service. Old medical books next to my old Dr. Seuss, Guiness Books of records reminding me that Marc Spitz’ butterfly was the fastest swimming stroke ever.
That’s what morning in the dark feel like on the best days. A time to reflect with no one looking to me for anything. As the morning light cuts through, the magic always disappears, bringing whatever the realities of the day will be slowly into light. Some people love a good sunrise. While I appreciate the splash of beauty, I can’t help but dislike how it interrupts the calm continuity of the time before. The my time.
Of course this is the time I write and think. The time when ideas are hatched and there’s no spoiling them with questions of how and why and what ifs. It’s a time where deep calming breaths offset the snore of the beagle and the slurping of the allergic dingo in the other corner. It’s like a post sleep, pre day relaxation.
I’ve written before that I’m a morning person. Evermore this is true. I’d much rather have the hours of 4-6 am than 9-11 pm. The reason is simply because my brain is alive then. Unfettered by the mundane reality of the day ahead. It’s truly my time and I love it.
This morning will be a second day that I have written in a row. It’s important because I truly believe in the momentum of doing a thing. To do that I knew I’d need to steal some time.
I set the coffee, read for a bit, and set a ridiculous alarm for 4:17.
To sit alone in the quiet.
#hugsandhi5s
