The still blue light of morning

This morning, it is just me, the rain and the sweet, gentle singing of the birds. And the still light of morning. The soft greyish-blue hue that has been washed over the world overnight. There is something to be said for rising early. Claiming an hour or two of solitude and a space to create. To write. Meditate. Stretch. Learn. To watch as the silhouette’s of trees plump themselves up with the yellowness of the day as it arrives.

I have always been an early riser. First awake in the household. Tiptoeing around to the sound of the slumber of my parents and siblings. Making my morning cup of tea in slow motion. Moving carefully to avoid making too much noise. Staring outside the kitchen window at the morning sky while the kettle boiled. The stillness, like a painting. With a soundtrack of the clear and glorious notes coming from feathered throats. Growing up, I never understood the attraction of sleeping in. I never wanted to miss out on watching the fringes of night turn into day. It was magical. And the stillness of the morning was like a blanket on my lap, holding me peacefully as I read and wrote myself awake.

My body clock would stir me from my sleep. Without fail. Rising just before 6am. Christmas morning, even earlier, of course. I would sit under the smell of the pine needles, a cup of tea in my hand, staring for hours at each of the presents under the tree. Imagining what they could be. Waiting to hear the slapping sound of Dad’s feet on the cork tiles of the corridor. He was always next to greet the day. He would make a cup of coffee. For himself. And one for mum. We would chat until he would retreat back into the bedroom with two morning biscuits in hand. And then the sounds of the day would change, as the deep and serious voice from the radio beside his bed would share the news of the moment.

These days, I get up at about 5.30am to write for an hour every morning. It is an uninterrupted hour of creativity and a wonderful way to start the day. And although I am alone. I am not alone. There is a whole culture out there of early risers. An entire club. The 5am Club in fact. Robin Sharma, ‘leadership and elite performance expert’, has sold over 15 million copies of his book on ‘protecting the quietest hours of daybreak’ to ‘transform your life. Forever.’ Some twenty years ago, he formally introduced The 5 AM Club concept to the world, as a ‘revolutionary morning routine’ to help his clients ‘maximise their productivity, activate their best health and bulletproof their serenity in this age of overwhelming complexity.’ He was clearly not sleeping in, when he was growing up.

As part of the 5am Club, you get up early and do twenty minutes of exercise, twenty minutes of planning or reflecting and twenty minutes of learning. Before lockdown my routine in the morning was to wake early, meditate for half an hour, and journal afterwards, reflecting on my practice. A beautiful way to start the day. One that has always served me well. On those mornings, for whatever reason, I have not been able to do this, my foundation is never as strong. My ability to be flexible with however the day shapes, is limited when I miss my meditation. After breakfast and getting ready for work alongside my hubby, and the kids as they sleepily went through the motions of getting ready for school, I would walk to work, and listen to a podcast. My morning routine. Not far off what Sharma’s club of early risers are doing. I had half an hour of reflection. Half an hour of exercise and learning combined.

Being in lockdown I tried to replicate this routine. But in the middle of winter, it is hard to find the motivation to go for a walk outside in the cold and the rain, when you don’t have to leave the house to get to work. So I shifted my walks to later in the day and added some yoga into my morning routine before my meditation, and before sitting with a morning cup of chai, listening to a podcast as the sun climbed even further into the sky. And I noticed, there is something about doing these activities consecutively, without interruption. Without the break in between to have breakfast and get ready for work. The positive effects are amplified. And although I loved my morning walks listening to a podcast, it is great to sit and listen, so I can take notes if I need. Capturing some of the learnings for later.

Getting up an hour earlier to include an hour of writing before an hour of exercise, reflection and learning, to honour my artistry, is a glorious way to start my day. Being true to who I am is the first thing I do. It makes me feel whole. Energises my soul. And gives me a sense of hope, to carry into the day.

There is something magical about early mornings. I am grateful to have this time to watch the contrast of daybreak soften into a technicolour scene out the window. To be a solo witness to the trees and humble shed in our back yard taking shape, painted into being alongside a peppering of clouds, with the rain’s passing. To hear the sounds shift as the call of the magpie announces the day.