For the love of mornings

Mornings are my time.
The quiet space when nobody else is awake.
I tiptoe out of the bedroom, turning off the lamp.

I love mornings.
I love the quiet, I love that in the busyness of daily life I can claw some time back for myself.

Mornings used to solely be for workouts.
The screeching alarm, panic setting in, knowing I have to get out of bed right now to be back in time to get ready for work.
But now I give myself more time.
An earlier alarm, a little less sleeep, but a cup of tea after a cold run or a warm workout, and a little bit of time to myself before rushing into the day.

While the treat on my rest days used to be that I got to sleep in, now my gift is time. I get up as usual, and quietly awaken the kettle.
The first cup of tea of the day.
The quiet and the tea, and my journal.
Sometimes a book.
Sometimes a blog post.
Sometimes... nothing. Nothing but the quiet.

I don't always get it right.
Some mornings I chase my tail because I took my mornings a little too gently.
Some mornings I sleeep through my alarm, or spend too long mindlessly scrolling through my phone.
Some mornings I plan to do yoga or meditate, but doing a bit of nothing can sometimes be more appealing.

I see my mornings as free time to myself to do whatever I like.
I don't have to do anything, or I have plenty of time to do the things I never get time to do.
My mornings are quiet and relaxed - the exact opposite of my days and weeks.
I try not to have a plan. I try not to have pages to read or meditation practice to commit to or a blog post to write.
On workout or running days I still give myself some time, 15 minutes here, 20 minutes there, to prepare for the day.

Having this time is much better than sleeping.
It's time that is mine to take. Time that is free for whatever I please. Time for me.

I've never been good at late nights, but mornings are mine.