Tag: mornings

Mornings, Magpies and Me

Some children are up at 6 a.m. full of beans, ready to play. They wake their bleary-eyed parents with laughter, chatter and joie de vivre. I was never one of these kids. I’ve been a night owl from the day I was born.

My mornings have always been hard. Getting out of bed is hard. Jumping in and out of the shower is hard. Facing breakfast is hard. Anything beyond a grunt is hard. The only thing that isn’t hard is taking the dog for her morning walk.

Although I bitterly resent it before I go, the moment I’m out in the park the day changes. I remind myself this is worth getting up for: the cool air on my face, the well-trodden track under my feet, and the dog cantering ahead like a racehorse.

By this time, I’m smiling and have found my voice. I even enjoy meeting fellow walkers and saying hello. Yet the 45 minutes before the walk have been hellishly difficult. Why can’t I just skip the moaning and groaning and get to the good bits straight away? I’ve read The Miracle Morning, and each time I go back to it, I get all fired up about embracing the new habits it suggests. My enthusiasm, however, wilts the next morning when I actually have to put those lofty ideals into practice.

I now leave my phone in the kitchen and set my alarm so I have to get out of bed to turn it off. Great in theory. In practice, I’ve been known to yell ‘Siri, stop!’ loud enough for my phone to obey. When that hasn’t worked, the rebel in me has simply waited out the alarm with the doona pulled over my head. I can be ridiculously obstinate about getting up.

I’ve tried Mel Robbins’ five-second rule, but if you’re not committed, you won’t do it. I understand the theory (I always understand the theory) and for a while, when I’m all enthusiastic, it works. But inevitably, I slip back into bad habits.

This morning, I set my alarm 15 minutes earlier than I needed to and another for the right time. It let me hurkle-durkle for a while, letting thoughts amble lazily through my mind. With enormous effort, I stumbled out of bed and into the shower. Only when the warm water trickles down my face do I truly wake up. Until then, I’m a zombie condemning everything that crosses my path to hell and damnation.

I’ve always admired people who wake up ready to face the day. The world seems built for morning people. Life would be so much easier if I fell into line. But today, I’ve had a small win. I was out the door 20 minutes earlier than usual, and it made a huge difference. The dog had a much longer walk and I wasn’t in a hurry to get back. So instead of rushing, I enjoyed the magpies warbling and spotted a kookaburra perched on the overhead wire. I’d have missed this beautiful kingfisher on any other day. If every morning started with a kookaburra, I might stop arguing with my alarm. Might.

The Miracle Morning Missed Me

Why can’t I get out of bed in the morning? Every night, my alarm is set on my phone and placed in the kitchen. I have chosen the most ear-piercing, shrill sound that I fear wakes my entire neighbourhood, but I still manage to roll over and go back to sleep. I have tried going to bed earlier, setting the alarm for as late as possible, setting it earlier to give myself more time, having a thermos of tea at my bedside, all to no avail.

The strange thing is that I’m not even comfortable in bed once I wake up. My hips ache, my bladder protests and still I lie there, convincing myself that ‘out there’ is not only less desirable but downright ghastly. It will be too cold and much too unpleasant. Yet when I finally get up, it is quite agreeable out there. The shower is warm, the world seems benign and when I take the dog for her walk, I can’t help but feel jubilant. The frost and silent fog are achingly beautiful. I wonder why I can’t return to this feeling to get me out of bed earlier. It would be so much more enjoyable to have an extra twenty minutes out in the park instead of lying in bed.

I never thought I’d say this, but I wish I were a morning person: someone who wakes up, jumps out of bed fully awake and ready to tackle the day. The type of person who is bright and chirpy, finds the first is hours of the day invigorating and gets things done before others are awake. It seems to make no difference whether I have six hours or ten hours sleep. I wake up bleary eyed, slightly grumpy and always at least a little more tired than when I went to bed. Luckily, my dog doesn’t mind me being monosyllabic for the first hour.

I have read ‘Miracle Morning’, ‘The Five Second Rule’ and various other books of the same ilk, trying to convince me that it is a merely a question of putting my mind to it. Lord knows, I have tried. I have even succeeded for a week or two at a time, but it was always a struggle, and I never felt full of energy. My rocket booster kicks in about 30 minutes before bedtime, which would be perfect timing if my job were midnight space travel, but not so great for a 6am start in the real world.

Many years ago, I taught English to Chinese students at a private college. It wasn’t a great job and for the most part I was deeply unhappy there. But there was one moment that has become a favourite of mine, an anecdote that resonates with every fibre of my being. A young man handed me his journal to be marked. The first sentence read, ‘I was alarmed at 7am.’  I simply couldn’t bring myself to mark it as incorrect.