The alarm rings at six-thirty AM. I take a moment to orient myself, turn off the Shins‘ lyrical voice, and swing my legs over the side of the bed.
The sheets cling to the soft fabric of my leggings, almost begging me to stay, but I don’t let that happen because, as we all know, if I do, I’m not getting back up any time soon.
I shift the music, changing it to a soft, acoustic-like playlist. It’s flowy. It wakes me up. I let it lull me to the laundry room to collect the dried things, then to the mirror where I make myself presentable.
I stare at the eyes in my own head, comb through the woven strands, with water wash the sleep from my face. And one deep breath for good measure.
Time to take two seconds for myself, and I do: I roll out the blue mat and do a few stretches, and when I’m calm, I sit in silence. On a warm early morning, there is nothing so golden as thirty minutes of pure quiet.
My breaths match the rhythm of the dreams I had last night — I think, as I can hardly recall them. Strong legs help me stand to gather myself for the day’s challenge; I am grateful for them even if they aren’t shaped the way society wants them to be.
Inhaling, I open a window, gathering my senses and realizing the thunderstorm playing on outside. It’s so perfect, this day of mine, because it is completely mine.
Last few seconds before going downstairs… smile in the reflection. Tell yourself that “today will go how you choose it to go.” To the kitchen.
Fill up a glass with water. Down the whole thing, then get another, and sip it mindfully while you gather your thoughts on a page, or two, or six.
I recall the day before and remember that it’s okay to start over today. I am better today. I breathe out and in and out again, and I start the day.
Just a regular morning, yeah. Just a routine thing.