“Why do we bother with the rest of the day,
the swale of the afternoon,
the sudden dip into evening,
then night with his notorious perfumes,
his many-pointed stars?
This is the best—
throwing off the light covers,
feet on the cold floor,
and buzzing around the house on espresso—”
A few stanzas from Morning, by Billy Collins.
This poem captures what I love most about mornings. For me, it’s more like buzzing around my desk on espresso. The quiet productivity improved by the darkness outside my window and Cesar (often) sleeping soundly nearby. It’s like a waking snooze, time stolen back, and there’s coffee, which seems to taste better on those days when I succeed in capturing these early hours.
Ideally, this early time would be saved for writing and reading. It doesn’t always work out that way. (Lately, even less so.) Having a team mostly based on the East coast while living on the West means my mornings start early with conference calls and “urgent” emails. 10 am Eastern time is 7 am Pacific time.
Sometimes I wake up earlier to preserve my mornings. Other times, I concede and let the work day’s needs take over, squeezing writing in later wherever possible. And, for the last few months as our wedding approached, there were lots of days where I skipped writing entirely. All of which makes the mornings when it does happen that much more special.
I’m thrilled to be back in San Francisco until Christmas in our drafty old Victorian where the floors are cold in the mornings, and thanks to a new wedding gift, the espresso is abundant.