When the first sounds of “Galaxy Bop” seep into my subconscious and I realize that it is not just the next exciting twist in my dream journey but the forceful beckoning of reality, I sigh. Sometimes I groan. I have even found myself chanting “No, no, no, no, no”, which feels like the most dissonant of all. The blatant, pure, unadulterated rejection of the actual day that I must live – it is bitter indulgence because it is temporary. I must, and I will, arise. Because:

I shuffle to the living room and spot the dog lying peacefully – enviously peacefully, as if she has nestled into the arms of Hypnos himself – and I kiss her forehead. She does not mind, but she does not budge. She might open her eyes briefly, but they quickly droop closed. My first dog duty complete, I wander to the kitchen where a pot of coffee sits brewed- courtesy of the husband who made coffee preparation a “night chore” for himself a year or so ago. He bought a programmable switch. He set it for 4:30am every weekday. He does not wake up until 6am most days (I think the 4:30 setting is his idealism showing through), and the coffee pot warmer shuts off after 1.5 hours. So I hobble in at 5:00 on the good days (5:15 or 5:30 on the harder ones) and flick the button on and off to give it another 1.5 hour reset. I linger with the morning before I head to the office, so I need to keep the coffee hot.

(I make sure to thank my husband for prepping the coffee at least once every few weeks. I’m afraid to thank him too much, in case my gratitude inadvertently illuminates my lack of contribution to this critical task.)

Coffee poured, I wander to the couch. The open concept apartment isn’t huge; all in all, I am taking less than 50 steps throughout this morning ordeal. On the best of days, I play one of my tried-and-true morning albums, “How is that I should look at the stars” by the Weather Station, or “The Pines Vol 1” (or 2) by Sad Moses, while I sip my coffee and read on the couch. When I’m scattered, I have three or four books lying around and I pretend that I will read a little of each (I usually don’t get further than two). When I’m tuned in, I immerse myself in one book. I can feel the hour slipping away as I savor the quiet and the music and the book and my dog who is slowly emerging from sleep on the couch beside me. I avoid my phone or watch, afraid to see the time. But, alas, my body knows when the hour has passed.

6am is my run time. Lately I’ve been dragging it out and not getting dressed for my run until 6, which gets me out the door at 6:10. My dog is awake by then – she sees me putting the shoes and clothes on, she knows the drill. She looks longingly at me as I walk out the door, but she and I both know that she will be sitting by the window watching and waiting for me to return for her run.

80% of the days, I don’t exactly want to go on my 6am run. I just know that I will have wanted to go on my 6am run when I’m in my first meeting of the day, or rushing through lunch at 12, or driving home from work (too tired to run) at 6. I also know how I will feel when I finish: cleansed, and more congruent. And so, like awakening, I do it. Because:

Many days, I start my run in a dour, bewildered mood. What am I doing with my life? Why have I not done something great? Why am I here and not somewhere else? What am I going to do about it? Does my family (all out-of-state) know I love and miss them? Does my dog need more time outside? Do I show my husband the love he deserves? Do I need to make a change? Welcome to 30 seconds in my head.

The motion is mysterious, though. I can never quite recognize when my mood shifted- sometimes I can’t even acknowledge that it shifted. I just find myself wandering down unexpected trains of thought. They come, they go, I hop on to some, let others fly by. Until I’m nearing the end and I realize that the person I was at the beginning of the run feels foggy and foreign. Here I am, coming to.

I enter the house, time for run #2 (shorter version) with the dog. On this run, I marvel at my dog’s utter excitement. Sometimes she sprints, sometimes she trots. Sometimes, if I take her on a boring route, she drags behind me. No matter what, I see the magic work on her as well. We return home panting and smiling. The day is made right – already!

And yet, duty calls. I feed the dog, drink more coffee while I shower, listen to more music or a podcast, sometimes listen to a meditation while I’m getting ready (they all start with “find a restful, still position” as I’m rushing to and fro, doing my hair and getting dressed. I toss a little pretend into every day.)  Then I’m out the door (yes, always at least 10 minutes later than I hoped).

Calm and chaos, my inner friends. I inhabit a diorama of existence itself in the first few hours of the day. The beauty and the sorrow of my morning ritual is that I must do it every morning.