I’ve had friends tell me, “If you call me in the morning and wake me up, I might not be that nice.” Not good friends, mind you—I can’t fathom being proper close with anyone who tells me that—but close-enough-to-know this information kind of acquaintances. This statement has never sat well with me. True, I understand that some people simply dislike early wake up calls and mornings. I do have the kinds of proper close friends who manage to sleep until noon on the weekends and enjoy it.
I am not like those people. I am a self-proclaimed morning person, though it’s taken me a while to get to the stage where I feel comfortable acknowledging (and admitting) this. Because it’s just not that cool to admit that, at fifteen, you’re still kind of freaked out by the dark and feel relieved when the morning light comes around. Teenagers are supposed to love the night. They’re supposed to love going out, they’re supposed to love being rambunctious and staying out to the morning light (though, much to my chagrin, they aren’t supposed to like that song).
Needless to say, because of my preference for early mornings over late nights, I never quite felt the sense of ‘I have arrived. I am a teenager. I am cool.’ that I so craved in high school. I thought that someone would magically push a button and I would be a real-life teenager. My life would kind of resemble Sabrina’s on Sabrina the teenage witch, only without the magical powers. Except, I turned thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen and seventeen and was a real-life teenager without a neon sign going off to tell me that this is it, this is real life. Perhaps that’s because I’ve only just realized that my life will never be like an episode of Sabrina the teenage witch, with or without the magic powers. It was last year when I finally realized that all my expectations for teenager/college-hood came from that show. I suspect I will be similarly shocked when I begin to realize that adult life isn’t like xyz, but give me a couple more years to dwell in my fantasies, please.
I thought I had it all figured out, my morning persona personality. And then I was out for a friends birthday, dancing on a make-shift dance floor at one of the coolest clubs in Bristol when it hit me. I’m not this kind of cool. I want to go home and go to sleep. My goodness it’s nearly three am. Seriously, I just want to sleep.
So, the next morning after getting to bed at the ungodly hour of four am, I woke up at eight thirty. Not by my own decision, but because the roof of our house was undergoing construction. When the pounding began, I didn’t fight it. I got up to greet the morning light, to have my own bit of quiet time before the crush of the day began.
That being said, I’m not a chatty morning person. I like the morning to be a quiet, introspective time to prepare me for the day ahead. I like my morning to be a time to set my intentions for the day, to begin the day on a calm peaceful level so I can operate from a place of even energy and not from frenzied energy.
I don’t really care anymore about going out, doing the cool thing, doing the thing that university students are supposed to do. Waking up later than half nine makes me feel gross. I want to see the sun shining in my windows at just the right angle. I like to enjoy my city—whatever city that may be—without the onslaught of people. And in summer, I like the fact that the morning is the coolest part of the day.
So, yeah, I’m a morning person. I may not be your traditional morning person, but I wasn’t your traditional teenager and I’m not your traditional university student. And that’s okay by me.
Are you a morning person or a night-owl?