Somehow I knew it was five—it happened every morning I was there—and I heartily opened the window to the still-dark morning, letting in the chill of the night and early-hour summer sounds: sprinklers just starting their cycle, the newspaper carrier’s oldish car boasting morning news radio with two successive thwacks on the driveway, a few over-achievers in their vehicles leaving for obviously far-away jobs. The nights are so loud where my mom lives compared to our neighborhood, so I had to block out the night in order to sleep soundly. But, peeking at the clock, I realized I still had an hour to linger under the thick comforter I’d dismissed during the cozier evening, all of a sudden a welcome friend in my oversized queen bed that was still half-made, piled with pillows on one side. A luxurious week of sleep visiting my mom alone in her show-room-worthy house (immaculate because she’s trying to sell it and she’s the only one to make a mess), just the two of us rattling around in blissful clean quiet. We spent a week attending classes at Education Week and were on BYU’s campus from 8 a.m. - 7 p.m. everyday. We are too old to be in school all day, so nights were a welcome reprieve from the demands of note-taking and staying quietly still and awake in our collegiate seats.
I’d finally get up at 6 and venture down the dark stairs to exercise and wake up a bit before starting the day. On the weekends we’d walk around the cemetery in the crisp fall-tinged 55 degree pale light, a favorite start to any summer morning at my mom’s house. By the time I’d exercised and showered she’d opened all the shutters and windows to the easy morning light and refreshing canyon breezes. The sleepy house stretched and slowly permitted the cool air to dance with its warmer night partner. A beautiful respite from the August heat that would inevitably envelop us later on in the day. Just a grand part of my days with my mom, playing spectator to the fading night.
I recall a picturesque early morning not long ago when I postponed not only my exercise but also my weeding for just a bit and took my reading and blanket out on our front porch. Because as I age I’m becoming more keenly aware of how fleeting time can be. And I’m learning to relish seemingly insignificant moments. I’m recognizing that the best parts of life seem to come back to stolen minutes off the clock like these, so I indulged. Summer days in Montana are long, but somewhat intense, so most of us have come to appreciate the bookends of morning and evening.
Over the years I’ve tried to decide which I prefer, and I guess I could argue for either. I’ve always liked the idea of twilight and the satisfaction of a nearly-completed day, a chance to reflect on accomplishments and activities and memories I could tuck away. I’ve always appreciated the soft, enchanting pastels, the graceful way the light says goodnight. I like the thunderstorms over the mountains that pass over us so many times during the summer evenings both in Utah and Montana. There’s nothing like finally feeling cool enough for blankets after a busy summer’s day full of both work and fun. A respite for just a few hours till the sun finds us again.
But I also love mornings. When I was a little kid I remember finding my mom in her bathroom and she would tell me how early it was for me to be awake. Maybe I was just done sleeping, I have no idea why my older kids can sleep till 10 when they could be useful, and toddlers insist on waking up in the 6’s. As a freshman in high school I had a 6 a.m. religion class, so I set my alarm for 4:30. For a couple reasons. I always ate a really big breakfast. I also had stick-straight hair, the worst possible hair to have been born with as an 80s teen. It required major effort each morning to wash, blow-dry, curl, spray, coax, and tease to an acceptable height. I also packed an enormous lunch since I’d be gone for so long. I could be so much more stream-lined these days. And I would certainly not waste sleep trying to fit some random hair standard. Just look at the pictures of any 80s girl and you would agree it was not worth the effort.
The kids balk during the summer that we make them get up at 7:30. To us, that is sleeping in. During the school year the older kids would get up at 5. I would join them at 5:30. Todd and the others would get up at 6:30. Summer is a vacation in retrospect!! We just feel it’s important to keep some semblance of a schedule, to get a good start on the day, so this is the second summer we’ve made them get up early. There’s less of that sluggish, wasted feeling. They can get their weeding and mowing done while it’s cool. We have time with dad before he leaves for work. We can eat breakfast and read a little before he has to go. From our parental vantage point it’s mostly good. I kind of miss my long uninterrupted mornings alone with Todd and then alone with myself, but it’s been good. The kids, on the other hand, haven’t even made it to the platform, let alone hopped aboard.
I think back to college and recall my 7 a.m. Spanish class. Every day. A 15-minute walk across campus, one of a small entourage with such an early-morning class. We were a very serene bunch. I recall many days being done with my class and coming back to sleeping roommates. Even on Saturdays I couldn’t sleep in much and would walk across the deserted campus before 7 to do a little running and weight-lifting. How I loved this alone time. With 30,000 students and a full dorm of giggly girls it was hard to find any alone time. I came to savor these quiet moments, found most effortlessly in the calm of the morning.
Maybe that’s when I first made the connection that clear thought occurs most easily in the wee morning hours. I’ve always known that I start out strong at the beginning of the day and definitely wane near the end. Morning appeals to me because I can think uncluttered, I’m more open to ideas, happier, less stressed and more relaxed, more in-tune with who I am. I can see my goals clearly and am less distracted by what the day tells me I need to be. In the morning I trust myself. I’m centered and collected. I know what I need to do.
This is when I write. But as the day gets lighter I can hardly help but peek out over the back yard with the dark, freshly-cut grass contrasted with the residual gray clouds from last night’s storm. I take in the the scene and breath deeply, calm. Reflective.
It’s in these early morning moments I can access the deeper parts of my life, the parts that are necessarily pushed to the margins as I deal with the demands of my family and the day. I’m more aware of small and simple ideas, feelings, inspiration. I have all sorts of questions and worries, concerns and issues I face individually and on behalf of my family. I might be nervous about an upcoming assignment. I might have a relationship that isn’t quite right that makes me uneasy. I question the best way to handle an issue with a child. I rely on these quiet moments first thing in the morning because I’m calmer inside, I’m not darting here and there, as we inevitably get caught up in the duties and activities of the day. This is a clear time to receive and acknowledge answers.
It’s not just me, this is a truth that’s been taught through the ages. Aristotle advised, “It is well to get up before daybreak for such habits contribute to health, wealth, and wisdom,” while Benjamin Franklin warned, “He that riseth late must trot all day.” And a favorite admonition from a wise man, Harold B. Lee, “If you are to be successful…, you will need to be inspired. You will need to receive revelation. I will give you one piece of advice. Go to bed early and get up early. If you do, your body and mind will become rested, and then, in the quiet of those early-morning hours, you will receive more flashes of insight and inspiration than at any other time of the day.”
Savor-worthy prose here--love this post!
ReplyDeleteTiffany, thank you so much for taking time to read my thoughts. I know they don't appeal widely, and I've ascertained that they are probably for me alone. But if there is anything that resonates, I'm glad. That is the highest compliment I can think of, that of connectedness. Thanks so much for making the effort to comment, as well. I have no idea, otherwise, what the impact of following my heart is having.
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