We have read about people’s morning rituals with great interest. They seem seamless, calm, orderly. My world is the opposite. I have scores of de-cluttering books standing forlornly on my bookshelf (and under the bed). Despite my best efforts, my house isn’t orderly. I blame the fact it is tiny with no storage. At the end of a busy day, clothes are thrown in a heap on the floor, toothbrushes and hair brushes are abandoned by the bathroom sink and a pile of books and magazines I intended to read are scattered around the bedside table.
I swear at my alarm, usually set for 6am or earlier. I stumble to the shower, where I perform a sacred ritual. I crouch over and let the steaming water hit the stiff and agonizing points on my spine. “You can do this. You are going to have a beautiful day,” I state with determination. I process whatever abstract imagery has been brushed into my dreams, then stagger to the kitchen for my instant coffee.
Yep, instant coffee. Quick and easy.
I grunt as I survey the piles on what should be a dining table, and sit down to sip my coffee.
The tiny lounge room is full of errant treasures. The birds are tweeting for their breakfast, and the guinea pigs are squeaking. I fill their bowls with yummy food, then get my daughter her breakfast. She has the same thing each day, soy rashers cooked in olive oil and a glass of milk. She is a radiant bundle of energy as soon as she wakes. My breakfast consists of whatever is easiest. Sometimes I will make up a container of energy balls in advance, consisting of dried fruit, seeds and nuts. If I have been too busy, I may throw some veggies and fruit in the blender and have a smoothie. I remind myself to take medication to keep my sugar levels even, sustain my bones and keep my pain levels under control. If we are at home all day, I wont bother brushing my hair, nor changing clothes. I iron about twice each year, carelessly tossing crinkled clothes into an ironing basket to be dealt with later. I gravitate toward clothing that doesn’t require ironing each and every day. I refuse to look at the ever-growing piles pocketing the house. We have to get to work. Mid-afternoon, a quick clean is accomplished. More often than not, we are out of the house by 7.30am and on a train. We may not get back until late, and the cycle of discarded clothes begins again. I have had to let go of any ideals of perfectionism I previously had. You can have everything you want, just not all at once. The time will come all too soon when I have an orderly home, and my chick will have flown the nest. Educating, writing and being together is what matters at this point in time. She won’t remember (I hope), that she couldn’t properly see herself in the streaked wardrobe mirror, nor look out of a clear window. Sometimes, I am called to dress up for an occasion. This means I throw an outfit together, brush my hair and put on some makeup within twenty minutes.
The chaos is the same as the orderly, you can’t have one without the other. Often, they are both on offer in the one day. That’s okay. I know that I am advised to chant and meditate, do forty minutes of yoga and cardio. I know I am meant to plan my day and start off calm. I know too, that it creates stress when I hold a vision of what a morning should look like. I just roll with it now, and the mornings are okay, as am I. It’s enough to wake up. It’s more than enough.