I am not a morning person. I don't like to get up before the sun. I don't even like to get up before 8:00 a.m. regardless of the sun. In fact, 9:00 a.m. would be perfect. (Rarely happens- this is why they call it wishful thinking.)
But this morning, in a continued effort to reclaim my time, I fought (so desperately fought) my non-morningness. I woke up at 6:00 a.m. Today being a commute to New York day (which happens twice a week), I had to get up early anyway. When the alarm went off, instead of hitting snooze again and again or resetting the alarm for 7:00 a.m. (which was soooo tempting), I sat up.
My body argued and complained, weighing itself down in an effort to sink back into the sheets. It beckoned to me presenting me with wonderful temptations of pillows, blankets, dreamland, and warmth. It's all right here! All you have to do is lay back down. Gravity will do most of the work.
Yet I sat up. You see, today is the day I am starting my morning pages again. About a month ago I was on a roll writing three pages in my journal every morning (thanks to a suggestion from Deb Owen about Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way).
In those morning pages I was writing anything that came to my brain in those first morning minutes: how sleepy I was, what I had to do that day, what I was happy/sad/upset about, what I wanted to do if only I could.
During those few weeks of continued morning pages a crazy thing happened. I felt my creativity awaken. I started writing more. I started Twittering with new fascinating people. My personal relationships became more fulfilling because I was making deeper connections with people. I had a series of little "aha!" moments where I realized things I hadn't previously recognized in myself.
Then the May craziness hit. Travel and baseball consumed much of my non-working time. I stopped doing morning pages. I found all sorts of compelling reasons not to do them.
If you saw my post yesterday, you know I hit a wall and am now reclaiming my time in small increments during parts of my day that might otherwise be lost.
That includes morning pages. So despite my body's grumblings, I picked up my journal and began writing again this morning. I gave myself permission (ok and Deb gave me permission too) to aim for a mere page and a half, rather than three pages. Just for now. Just on my early rise commuting days.
And you know what? I wrote two full pages. Then rather than race through a 30 minute flight-of-the-bumblebee morning routine, I gave myself permission to take my time. I had breakfast. I put the baseball uniforms in the dryer for tonight's game. I responded to a Twitter post. I showered and got ready at a reasonable pace.
Interesting thing. I made it to work an hour. I dug right in and found myself more finishing tasks in a more focused, less scattered way.
Sure I had some lingering tiredness (though I often have that anyway). I also had a sense of calm. I felt oddly at peace with my day's activities.
Tomorrow is not a commuting day so I will sleep a little bit later and aim for the full three pages. I'm hoping my morning pages will get me off on the right start again.