For a while now, I have struggled to stick to any semblance of a routine. At first, I chalked it up to depression. But now, lack of routine has become a thing of its own to conquer.
So here I am. I got up at 5 a.m. this morning in an attempt to jump start routine of some sort again.
I’ve always, always been a morning person. Except for those college days when I would survive on three or four hours of sleep because it was the social thing to do, staying up late. I still got the most done in the early mornings, so I still got up relatively early, even then.
Lately, though, on days when I had no other responsibilities, I have slept far too much, far too late into the morning to say here how late I have been sleeping. It’s embarrassing. It’s time to stop that habit.
I love early mornings, preferably before 6 a.m., because no one else in my house likes them. No one else is awake at that time. P is an early riser and L is too on the weekends, but not this early. I can have the house to myself and I can think clearly without little boy noise convoluting those thoughts. Occasionally, I can do yoga or at least stretches.
Early morning is a good time to remember that it’s okay that my life doesn’t resemble what I thought it might once upon a time. It’s a good time of day to remember that I do, indeed, have things to contribute to the world even if it doesn’t take the form of a paid job. The depression is far less in the early morning– the day holds hope.
I guess that’s what it boils down to, with me and early mornings. It’s easier for me to have hope in the early morning. There are possibilities, even if I can’t put my finger on what they are exactly.