Precious Mornings

This morning my alarm didn’t go off. Faintly, in the fuzzy distance, I began to wonder what time it might be. I was sure it was past six. It took me some minutes to force myself to a sitting position so I could catch sight of the alarm clock. Sure enough, it was past the time when my alarm was supposed to go off. Once I climbed down out of the loft I discovered that I’d set the alarm for p.m., not a.m. Still, I’d woken up anyway. A miracle.

I could have kept sleeping and missed the whole morning. I would not have written what I wrote this morning. I am so thankful that I woke up.

This reminds me of a wonderful comment on one of my earlier posts:

Hi from a stranger who loves your blog. I, too, have thought about giving up recently — which is terrifying, because just like you, I’ve been committed to this word gig since elementary school. Even as I sit around thinking, “I’ll never get anywhere, I’m not good enough, I don’t work hard enough, I should quit” I start to feel kind of queasy because I know I can never entirely stop. It just can’t happen.

Here’s what I do now: I wake up early every weekday and write or revise for an hour and a half before work. I never, ever thought I’d be one of those insane early riser writers, but I’m so glad I tried it. Now, for the rest of the day, I feel happy that I accomplished something. . . .

This is exactly how I’m feeling lately. It’s the mornings that make the rest of the day bearable. It’s so lucky I didn’t miss this morning. What I wrote today had me sailing through an impossibly long day at work. I’m still sailing a little now. It’s worth the effort, worth the loss of sleep. It is.

Stranger, I guess we’re insane early risers together. I hope you had a good morning, too.


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