Since as early as I can remember, I’ve been a morning person. As a young child, I would get up while it was still dark outside and head to the kitchen, which always felt very cozy with its under-counter lighting, and would watch as my father prepared his breakfast before heading to work. I’ve always associated mornings with peacefulness, stillness, and the potential of a new day.
Regardless of how late I go to bed – although late bedtimes are not my wont – I’m usually up by seven o’clock at the latest. Most mornings, I’m up shortly after six, a good hour or more before Tawn begins to be stir-able. And I cherish that quiet time.
I open the windows in the living room and enjoy the still cool weather. I listen to the birds chirping, the sound of the building maids as they start sweeping the courtyard around the pool.
It is a time for reading my Xanga subscriptions, reading the newspaper, making a list of what I want to focus on today. While not meditation – something I’d like to try – it is meditative.
I love my mornings.