The quibble between early birds and night owls is a long fought battle. Some say those who stay up late are at greater risk of death, while morning people are often teased for claiming they can wake up naturally at 6am.
But being up when most people are asleep is like having a secret garden that you can visit each day.
I never used to be a morning person. As a teenager, you’re not meant to be. School-aged children are woken by alarm clocks, or parents knocking gingerly on the door (the first time), or shaking you awake to get up and dressed (the third or fourth time). Sundays were spent mostly in my pyjamas if I could, often while my parents hastened outside to get coffee – a reason to leave the house that now, as an adult, I finally understand.
Becoming one was, in large part, thanks to moving out of home and to the beach. Once you’ve changed, it’s hard to go back.
The early morning is a part of the day few things can interrupt. It is a window of time when nothing can go wrong quite yet, and a period of quiet for making big decisions or having time to yourself.
Being a morning person is also about the things you see and the affinity you feel with other morning people. In winter, it is the promise of morning sun that invigorates the early risers. In summer, it’s the rush to beat the heat. If you’ve never seen the sun hitting windows in the distance, making them so bright it looks like they’re on fire, you should.
The early bird will often have to tiptoe around the house, careful not to wake anyone. They are the first to see that Santa came and drank his glass of milk. They are the first to realise with dread that the fridge door was left ajar overnight or the dog peed on the carpet. And, as day breaks, news breaks. The night before the Queen died, I had gone to bed early and missed the ripples of concern starting to emerge. I woke up at 5:45am to very unexpected headlines.
Morning radio hosts greet their early listeners like special friends, and we know newsreaders so well we can anticipate the rise and fall of their voices, or their signature sign-offs.
For those who step outside, there is a whole world kicking into gear.
Flowers are opening their petals. Bakers and baristas are already at work. Bus drivers have already done several runs to and from the city. Nurses are on the way home from nightshift, and crates of milk are being dropped outside convenience stores. On the weekends, you see people schlepping home in last night’s clothes or catching early morning Ubers.
Even bleary-eyed people nod and smile as you pass them on the street, each taking note of the other’s routine. They see you fresh faced, before you don your work clothes, juggle children or rush from place to place. For those living overseas, mornings can also be a time where the clocks line up, prompting a FaceTime with loved ones – on the street, on the bus or in bed. It makes me smile.
As sacred as mornings can be, they are also a time to catch up on emails, pay bills, send texts or finish a piece of work. Fellow early birds know you’re up to talk or ring in a crisis. There is no need for an otherwise obligatory “sorry to wake you” – you’re there.
Many writers have special relationships with mornings too, finding their most productive hours are before anyone else is up. In a patch of sun on the living room floor, in silence, I wrote this one morning.
There may be peace late at night, but it’s not the same. There is a day’s worth of activity to contend with, and the threat of too many thoughts running through your head that could lead to a night of counting sheep. That’s not to say morning people’s evenings aren’t sacred too – we just go to bed earlier to be up the next day.
There’s no need to go to the extreme and imitate Tim Cook or other CEOs who start their day at 3.45am. Come on, that’s still night-time. But no other time will you hear the birds waking up, people’s alarms going off in the background or the “psst” of the coffee machine not drowned out by traffic. There is no better time to be yourself.
If you don’t want to get up or know your brain only finds its rhythm close to noon, you don’t have to. But aren’t you just, even a little bit, curious to see the world come alive?
English (US)