“When you arise in the morning, think of what a precious privilege it is to be alive—to breathe, to think, to enjoy, to love—then make that day count!” Steve Maraboli

…with the early morning, when everything is soft, placid, and the natural light feels oddly romantic. I get actual butterflies in my stomach. It’s as if I fall hopelessly in love every damn day. 

Are you with me? Don’t you relish the smell of freshly roasted coffee, a clandestine meeting with your muse, the prospect of slipping into the zone and cranking out fourteen hundred words that will absolutely dazzle someone? Or make us feel less alone. 

Well, that’s the hope, at least.

Yes, my hair might be a bit wayward, my eyes still puffy from sleep, but there is nothing distracting me from my thoughts. 

Yet.

I love it when the people around me are still stolid and quiet, just rising from the warmth of their blankets, the cocoon of their slumber, but also from that sacred place that I’ve come to understand as night therapy. 

Dreams could be a rosetta stone for the soul. I heard that phrase on the news, but they were talking about returning to the moon, referring to our adventures in space as a new language for our collective souls.

I think that’s a stretch but the adage rocks.

My dreams are often disjointed, scrambling from one scene to another as if a movie that has not been properly edited. Neil Gaiman says dreams are real. But they are made of viewpoints, of images, of memories and puns and lost hopes.

I tend to agree. Who is to say our dreams are not as real or as important as our conscious lives? Probably Freud, who believed dreams were simply an expression of unfulfilled wishes. Modern science says they are a way of consolidating our memories, but that does not invalidate their importance. 

I’ve never been a huge fan of Freud’s, especially his views on women’s unfulfilled wishes. 

Okay, get ready because this is the definition of ironic. 

One of his most famous critics was a psychologist named Karen Horney (make note of her last name), who rejected his view that women suffered from “penis envy,” as Freud claimed.

Penis envy, according to Freud, was a phenomenon that women experienced upon witnessing a naked male body because they felt they themselves must be “castrated boys” and wished for their own penis.

May it go on record, I have never wished for a penis.

Horney, instead, argued that men experience “womb envy” and are left with feelings of inferiority because they are unable to bear children.

You can’t make shit like this up. Horney, Freud, and penis envy. Should we ask what Larry thinks? I didn’t think so, either. 

Maybe our dreams are important in ways we’ve yet to discover. I wonder if the reason I don’t need glasses in my dreams is my vision comes from a place that is resistant to aging. Dreams are as if processing yards where my brain sifts through all the stresses and strains of the day and allows these emotions to play out in their own way, so we can get on with life. 

I shy away from calling it our real life.

What if those people in our dreams are just waiting for me to fall asleep so they can wake up, come out and process my stubborn emotions that have nowhere else to go, maybe entice my deceased parents to join in the action? I’m telling you, my parents spend an inordinate amount of time hanging out in my dreams. It’s as if they can’t get enough of me. 

I’m sure they visit Nancy too. 

As John Lennon says, “You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one. I hope someday you’ll join us. And the world will live as one.”

I think dreams of the mind own the night, and dreams of the heart, rule the day. You can quote me on that. 

Early morning is a precious time for anyone to express their heartfelt desires and ambitions because our thoughts are as crisp as the iceberg lettuce in the frig. According to Conni Eversull, extensive research has found that individuals do their best work when aligning with their circadian rhythms. 

I know, it’s a new word, and now your feeling schooled. But I assure you it’s a word you should embrace because it allows you to perform at your peak. I’m sure Horney and Freud have their own theories on this, but I think we should form our own conclusions.

Eversull says circadian rhythms are our daily cycles of activity controlled by the brain that tells your body when to sleep and when to be alert, and it regulates a bunch of other biological processes. Due to these rhythms, individuals experience peaks and valleys of alertness throughout the day.

Hence the need for coffee in the afternoon. 

The best time to write for me is in the morning. There are fewer distractions. My brain seems to be working better than normal because the analytics of the day haven’t had the chance to invade my creative space. 

Things like what people want to eat, where people want to go, and what people want to do. I don’t understand why they all don’t want to sit in a chair with a computer in their lap, pounding out words for hours on end. 

Womb envy? Are you kidding? I have the indefinite continued progress of existence envy, otherwise known as time.  

The other thing I should admit is I’m in a better mood in the morning, with excess motivation to spew my thoughts all over the page, especially when I’m up at the lake. 

The other thing Eversull says about circadian rhythms (consider bringing this up at your next dinner party) is you’ll want to form habits around writing, working, or creating (whatever the hell it is you do) at your peak hours because your brain thrives when it has a habit to follow. This reinforces and invigorates your work because your brain functions better and becomes healthier when you work while you’re most mentally alert. 

Just like love, intense feelings, pleasure, and innovative ideas are products of the brain. 

And when your brain is functioning better, you won’t be obsessed with what you don’t have. You’ll be satisfied with your own equipment, so to speak, and your own ability to create. 

Have you ever noticed how sweet the morning air is, as opposed to our morning breath, or how the clouds float around, adding their own dreamlike dimension to the budding day? 

I watch the rays of the sun burn into the morning sky, creating this glorious light that shines indiscriminately on everyone. There is nowhere morning does not go. What a strange pattern we have evolved with, the continual rotation of day and night, both essential to our survival. It’s amazing how small I feel juxtaposed against this incredible cycle of renewal and new life.

Ernest Hemingways says in the early morning on the lake sitting in the stern of the boat with his father rowing, he felt quite sure that he would never die. Happy Easter to those who celebrate new life this Sunday, and the sacrifice of Christ who overcame death once and forever. For those who gathered last week to celebrate a Seder Meal, I hope the angel of death continues to pass over us all. Here’s to new life every damn morning.

I’m Living in the Gap, embracing the day, when is your favorite time of day?

I did a podcast, linked here if you want to listen.

Link to Amazon if you want to order Grow Damn It, and don’t forget to leave a review. Anyone can, even if you purchased the book from another source. I’m trying to beat Jeff’s algorithm, which refuses to acknowledge my presence without 50 reviews. Ruthless. 

Or Link to Books Inc. at The Pruneyard for a signed copy.

Also available at Black Rose Writing here.