Monday, September 16

better than sleep: morning pages

If you've ever had a newborn, you know that phases don't last. There is no sense in trying to get used to anything, good or bad, because these little beings are set on a light-speed course of evolution, and what feels like the norm today will be ancient history in a day or two. So I feel sheepish even writing about this, but...

Over the last few days, baby Cash's slept on in bed after I get up long enough for me to have my coffee and write my morning pages. It's been bliss.

Around 6am or so, he becomes restless with me around. He's at the breast like I would be with an open bag of chips: I don't want any more but I just can't stop myself. I could roll away from him and sleep on my husband's side of the bed, who's up by now, but by some miraculous force of will I roll myself out of the warm bed where I've had too little sleep, stumble in the dim bedroom towards the kitchen for coffee. Then, coffee in hand, I curl up on the couch. And I write.

Like I say, it's been bliss.




All I ever want in life is a cup of coffee and time to write in my journal. If you follow my Instagram feed, you'd know this already, as I seem to have only two subjects: my two boys, and my coffee and journal. I've been an avid journaller for close to twenty years now, and a coffee fanatic ever since I gave birth to my first baby. I've gone in and out of writing morning pages over the years, but it's a practice I return to over and over because it's so potent and, well, pleasant.

On the few days when my baby boy has given me this incredible gift of time, I've been happier, more relaxed, more focused, and I attribute this largely to being able to write in the morning. Even when I didn't write out specific intentions or plans for the day, I feel clearer, my decisions are more in line with my heart, and I move through my days with more purpose. I think it has to do with just having the time to do what I most like and want to do first thing: to paraphrase Karen Maezen Miller, it's a little bit of attention given to myself to I can give the rest of my attention away. And the familiar act of putting pen to paper and moving my hand across the page puts me in touch with who I am at the very center of my being, with who I was even before I was a wife, a mother, a teacher. When I remember who I am, I know what to do.




So, whenever he gives me the opportunity, I will roll away from my son in the earliest morning. I will forgo whatever extra sleep I could scrounge because, when it comes to allowing me to have days that flow sweetly and with ease, writing my morning pages is better than sleep.


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