Mornings have never been easy for me. I have never been someone who leaps out of bed perky and rarin’ to go. Even as a child, I agonized over leaving the warm cocoon of bed to face the cold day. My father was the one who woke us every day: he’d go through a ritual of coming into our doorway initially and gently telling us it was time to get up. Then, he'd come into the room, reminding us what time it was. I was the worst. By his third attempt, he used to threaten that if I didn’t get up soon, he’d pour water over me. Well, I never really believed he’d do such a thing, but one day, he actually did come in, after several attempts to wake me, and he squeezed a wet cloth over my face. While I was incredulous beyond words that my father would do that, desperate times called for desperate measures.
Don't get me wrong: over the years I have certainly paid my dues with sleep deprivation and early mornings. And it's not so much the hour when I awaken, it's just how slow I am to take in the new day. When my son awoke at 5am for years, I was always responsible, and I'd be up and doing all those things one needs to do. Work and traffic usually had me up at the crack of dawn. However, I believe I functioned like an automaton for a good portion of my life.
We’re talking about a woman who, to this day, still takes a shower with her eyes closed, and the lights off, because it’s just too much stimulation that early in the day.
Breakfast?...Now that’s another matter entirely. I rarely want to eat much at breakfast but I am a believer in getting food for a good start to the day. Most days, it’s a bowl of yogurt with fruit and a glass of juice. I like it accompanied with the New York Times by my side. The tea can come later, and on the road, a muffin might do, but it’s all about eeeeeeasing into the day.