In the Quiet Between Dawn and Day

My room is almost empty. Definitely not in an austere way, but a way that leaves space for breath and thought. In that simplicity, the ritual that anchors my day isn’t something I add, but what I resist, which is the urge to reach for my phone when I wake up.

It’s only recently that I’ve become conscious of how instinctive that reach is and how easy it is to slide straight into doomscrolling through apps, especially TikTok, that distort my mood before the day has even properly begun. The morning is still young, still unformed, and yet there was me, who was constantly handing it over to noise. But a gentle nudge from riverflows, which was very kind and well-timed, made me really question the habit. Since then, I’ve been practicing leaving the phone alone and staying in bed a little longer at dawn, as my body is already used to waking up really early. I stay awake but not yet doing, then I let the day arrive without immediately claiming it.

This moment has been really quiet and I’ve made sure it’s intentional too. I stretch slowly, and that stretch, feeling my body lengthen and settle, is surely a pleasure I love experiencing every morning. I don’t know if it’s just me or there’s someone else who can testify that there is something rooting about that first stretch that just tells you that you inhabit a body before you inhabit a schedule. lol. I do well to listen to the sounds outside too. We mostly have that cicadas shrill as it’s been really hot in these parts lately, plus the Keee-ar call from hawks which are out early to hunt. Yesterday, one picked up one of the chicks from a hen that took shelter in my backyard. While this is happening, I also just lie there, noticing the light as it begins to shift. During this time, there is nothing to respond to, no information to consume because I now leave my phone in the loo before bed and a trip to the loo in the early hours of the morning isn’t my thing. So that absence of distraction makes the minutes feel different, as in softer, almost elastic.

In this stillness, my awareness sharpens. Thoughts come and go without demanding real action. I also notice how my body feels before it has to perform and how my mind sounds before it is filled with other people’s words. Most of the time, great ideas and insights crawl in, and to hold on to them, I keep a bedside notebook and pen to draft those thoughts which would later be transferred to my digital journal when I’m ready to take on tasks.

Truth be told, this simplicity has created a subtle shift. I am now less reactive, and less compelled to fill every gap with unnecessary activity. My new learned ritual has kinda redefined what enough means to me. Enough time can exist in a few uninterrupted minutes and enough satisfaction can come from stillness rather than stimulation.