Tuesday, August 23, 2011
I used to rush through the mornings, trying to put them behind me as quickly as I could. I would sleep in until the last possible second, sometimes even longer; before angrily throwing back the covers and racing around the house in a bid to out race the clock.
I wouldn't begin to breathe again until I was sitting in my chair at work, or at uni, and even then I was so tired that it would only be a half-hearted effort.
Lately I have been trying to snap myself out of this bad habit, and have given myself the gift of an extra thirty minutes every morning. Thirty minutes to enjoy the process of waking up. To enjoy the beginnings of each day.
And so I have been waking up early. Sometimes I won't get out of bed during the thirty minutes. Instead I'll hug Joel while he sleeps, or cuddle my cats, and remind myself just how lucky I am.
Other times I will get up, stretch for a while, then make myself a coffee and sit by the window with my gratitude journal, watching the sun rise and writing down all of the things that I am thankful for.
Mornings no longer feel like a hassle. They no longer seem like something that needs to be gotten through as fast as can be.
In fact, they seem rather magical.