The concept of a morning routine was first practiced with enthusiasm beginning age six. I would wake up everyday at five and ride on the back of a bicycle with my grandfather. We would stroll parks and catch butterflies in a heavy air of fresh morning dew - it was always a treat to be one of the first to consume it before the whole city took it away.
I perfected the morning routine - until one day - I woke up two hours late. I can still vividly recall darting a glance at the clock and freaking out at the fact that it was already seven o’clock.
Funny, some years later, 7 am isn’t considered the latest hour anymore.
Nevertheless it’s a good routine to go back to, or as much as my nostalgia permits. Maybe it is also because of that “late incident” that my body resists less in the morning and opens up at the seventh hour.
Go for a quick run, grab hot breakfast, read the paper, then head towards the room with that ancient piano and unleash the repressed emotions from the night before, and just… daydream jammin’ over a nice castle.
head back for a warm shower, blow-dry the locks, smear Satsuma butter, pop some indie tunes, and take my daily dose of adage, fortune, and the new york times. All before the tenth hour of the day. Awake, content, and… alive.
I think I’m coming to enjoy this morning routine very much.
@ England
