Most weekdays, I wake up in time to hurry through getting ready to leave the house. A shower, drying my hair, a hug, some sentences and maybe a kiss with my other half.
But I like my quiet mornings.
Those when I rise earlier but naturally, when the quiet outside matches the quiet within. It is the kind of time when other people’s needs, intrusions, queues and accidents are farther away. The kind of time when a keyboard, a coffee and a comfortable chair are appreciated very differently from the set over at the office. The kind of mornings where I am the one who rouses the other half from last night’s sleep, with a too-chirpy grin on my face.
It is the kind of time when I feel completely in charge and relaxed at the same time. The kind of time when obligations, courtesies and consideration are held in abeyance, to be reinstated if and when I remember. The kind of time when I do exercises in creativity, in stead of exercises of a professional.
I have by now largely abandoned the late nights that segue ineluctably into morning. That was the undergraduate’s version of a quiet morning. I miss them, and from time to time, I try to recreate that feeling, when the clock’s arms cannot seem to touch you, and when one breath seeps quietly and fully into the next.
I really like my quiet mornings. If you are like me, I hope you make time for some quiet mornings every once in a while.