How many times do we hear ourselves (or someone else) say “I (am/am not) a morning person” in a lifetime?
Maybe it was the alarm going off at 4:30am one day at the end of a vacation in Calgary – wrenching me from my happy slumber – warning me that I had a flight to catch, that made my decision. I was puffy-eyed and shambling as I mechanically went through the teeth brushing and face washing ritual, completely unfit for public viewing. Yessir, I was pretty bitter that frosty morn as I dragged my suitcases to the car, but once I became more reasonable an hour or so later, I remembered when early mornings didn’t bother me at all. I’d get up, be bright and chirpy, and eager to see what the day had in store. I think I was 8 years old.
Is it an age thing, or are some of us truly better than others at greeting the sun as it peeks over the horizon (an entity, I might add, that has no choice but to rise at the crack of dawn each day regardless of how it feels)? Any new parent has a skewed opinion of what constitutes a “lie-in” compared to the rest of us. A friend of mine with a baby once told me that her son is now sleeping through the night and “not waking up until 6am” with almost a tear in her eye, as though that was sheer heaven.
Let that sink in: She thought sleeping until 6am was a gift.
As I screwed up my face, I thought back to when I was a child – one of four to be exact – who regularly arose early, particularly when we were on family vacations. We would be up and watching ‘I Dream of Jeannie’ while guys in the Army were still sleeping.
Christmas Day was another date on the calendar when Mum and Dad could look forward to little or no rest. They had to wait for all of us to fall asleep, and then Santa and Mrs. Claus filled the stockings, assembled THAT bicycle and crammed cookies and milk down throats in near complete darkness before being allowed about an hour in dreamland. The chaos would begin around 5am, and even though they tried to have us wait until it was at least light outside, they knew it was a losing battle. It truly must be a thrill to watch your children open and play with their presents on Christmas morning. That, and a lot of coffee, is probably how parents make it through the day without passing out from exhaustion.
Of course, this desire to rise with the rooster quickly died as school days took hold. We went from leaping out of our beds to being glued to them.
My mother would try to wake the four of us up, and it was an uphill battle every day. I could hear her feet heading in my direction along the hallway. A strong knock at the door: “Come on Vicki, time to get up!”
“Okay!” I would yell back, waiting for her to go and announce the dawn to a sibling so I could promptly try to catch another five minutes’ snooze.
When the footsteps returned, I had to look as though I’d been up all that time and making progress – a monumental effort. Inevitably we’d be running to the car, shoes in hand, arguing about who got what seats. My mother is a saint.
There is nothing like the working world to bring on a rude awakening – literally. You are grown up, independent, responsible … in other words, you must own an alarm clock. Although I had a day job, I had dreams of stardom, and so in my early 20s I joined a band.
We started off playing on Saturday nights, so, of course, that was no big deal – sleep in on Sundays. When we started getting gigs on Tuesday nights, however, it was a whole different ball of wax. The first set began at 10pm and we’d be finished at 1am. Then we had to break down the gear, sit and chat about the evening, and generally make it home for about 3am. It is amazing to me that I had no real difficulties waking up for work the next morning.
People ask me why I don’t start up another band. I’d be happy to if I didn’t have to work in the day, otherwise fuggedaboutit! Do you know why people like Mick Jagger and Rod Stewart can still do what they’re doing at their age? It’s because they can sleep until 2pm every day.
When was the last time you saw the Rolling Stones performing at breakfast?
“And now, a bit of ‘Sympathy For The Devil’ to butter your pancakes. Last call at the sausage station!”
Apparently as we get older, we go back to waking up early. I dunno – I’m still waiting for that cycle to kick in. I can’t remember where I read the article, but there was a story on the popular trend of nightclubs for the older generation. They open early and close around 10pm.
“You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here!”, while the sun’s barely set.
These places aren’t focused on senior citizens walking the velvet rope with their Zimmer frames, en masse (although more power to them if they felt like cutting a rug); they cater to people around Jennifer Lopez’s age who fancy hitting the club, but won’t be considered party poopers if they leave early because everyone has to.
I don’t think I’m at that stage yet. If I’m in the mood, I can hang out to the wee hours. But then I really feel it the next day. I’ve got all the bounce of a soggy sponge … and I’ll lie in until I absolutely have to get up.
I applaud those people who arise with the sun, enjoy their paper, perhaps go for a brisk walk (or jog – yikes!) and greet the day in a relaxed fashion.
I’m definitely still a night person … which is why I look like Mick Jagger in the morning.
