Every day, I wake up at 5.30 am (it’s supposed to be 6 am, that’s the time my alarm is set for, but I always wake up at 5.30 am and can’t go back to sleep), so I can spend the morning reading the book I fell asleep over the night before, drink my tea, read the papers, do the puzzles, eat breakfast, bathe and be ready to leave for the office by 9 am without having to rush.
I hate rush, so I’d rather wake up early and have a leisurely morning than wake up an hour before I have to leave and dash about like a headless chicken just to get out of the house in time.
Occasionally of course, I do wake up late and do the headless chicken act, but that’s only occasionally and that has never been responsible for me getting to the office late, only traffic has been responsible for that.
So you’d imagine that on my one day off a week, I’d like to wake up late, knowing that I won’t have to rush anywhere. Knowing that, though I still have to be on my computer and / or BlackBerry all day (because editing a daily paper is a deeply frustrating and annoying job – you are always on duty, even when you’re on holiday), I still need not dash about like a headless chicken.
But if you imagined that, you’re wrong.
On Sunday, my single (alleged) day off from work, I thoroughly enjoy waking up at 5.30 am even though my 6 am-set alarm has been turned off. Because I find a great deal of pleasure in waking up early naturally, without the awful tension of HAVING to wake early lurking somewhere in the murky pits of my subconscious.
I love early mornings because they are a wondrous time when the world feels new and the air (usually) feels fresh.
I love that combination of drowsiness and wide awake and happy to be aliveness that I often get in the early morning when the world feels as though it’s entirely mine.
Though it’s bad for the sinusitis-afflicted like myself, I love the spicy scent of foliage that I can actually smell in the early morning, that must still be there during the day, but is completely overpowered by the city by 6.30-7 am.
I love watching the grey sky get lighter by shades.
I love the sense of quiet – not just the sound of silence, but the sense of it.
I love the feeling that I’m alone in a magical world (it feels a bit The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe-ish) in which I wouldn’t be at all surprised if I found myself within the pages of the book I’m reading.
I love the sense of comfort and security and peace and utter self-indulgence I get when I’m curled up under a sheet with a book on my chest and a steaming, fragrant cup of tea by my side, with the knowledge that this will pass, but for the moment it feels endless.
I love the sounds of the world waking up though that’s bitter-sweet because soon the day will be ordinary again.
Early mornings are magic.