I wasn’t always a morning person.
I was once a typical teen who loved sleeping in on the weekends…the later the better, the actually. I grew up in the sticks, however, and had a loooooong bus ride to school every weekday, which meant that on Monday-Friday, I was up at around 6:00 am most days. I enjoyed this about as much as any typical teen would. But I had no choice in the matter so I sucked it up and dealt with it, living for the weekend when I could catch up on some much-needed sleep.
When I went off to university I wasn’t much different. In my first year I made the mistake of signing up for more than one 8:30 am class thinking, “I live on campus. Worst case scenario I can roll out of bed at 8:00 and still make it to my 8:30 class. This is sweet!”
Um….yeah. Let’s just say while it was a good plan in theory, in practice it didn’t quite work out as planned.
After finishing up my education I went out into the working world and again was forced to get up early in the morning to make it to work. I didn’t love it, but I was learning to accept it as simply “part of life”. Because that’s what grown-ups do. We get up in the morning and head off to work. I still made a point of sleeping in on the weekend, but I was beginning to view sleeping in as a waste of my precious weekend time. Why not just go to bed a little earlier through the week if I needed extra rest?
And then…I became a mom. And well, any parent can tell you that early mornings are part of the job description. With my first daughter in particular I spent first year of her life in a sleep-deprived haze. Lots of early mornings, late nights, and even middle-of-the-nights to deal with. My second daughter came along and she was a much better sleeper, thankfully. I’d seen my fair share of sunrises by this point and I’d come to see the beauty of the early morning.
By the time Lil’ Mo was about a year or so old, I began getting up early in the morning, before the rest of my family, to get a little alone time. During the nicer months of the year, the sun and the birds were the only alarm clock I needed. I would sneak out of bed to go for a short run around the neighbourhood or to spend some time writing. it was a good time to be alone with my thoughts before the hectic activity of the day began. And when you’ve got two young children, time to be alone with your thoughts is in short supply. I took in whenever I could get it.
This is when my inner morning person really began to shine. I quickly realized that getting up extra early = even more alone time. I began loving the quiet mornings. My love of running began to be fully embraced. Mornings are now my time for me – time to move my body, time to sort through my thoughts and feelings, time to organize, time to plan. Time to breathe in the early morning air and enjoy the sights and sounds of the world waking up around me.
Being a morning person means that over the years I have seen many sunrises. More than I can count. And I realized recently that I haven’t regretted a single one of them. Not the mornings when my girls had me up before I was ready, or the days when I was marathon training and reluctantly dragged my bum out of bed. And not even the rare mornings when I was haunted by insomnia and just.couldn’t.sleep. There will come a day when there will be no more sunrises for me — ever. I plan on seeing as many of them as possible while I still can.