Time Well Spent

Sitting on the couch, she freezes, shocked. I stand in the archway and let out a sigh of defeat. “Excuse me, what did you say?” she asks, still bent over her puzzle.

“Yes,” I assure her, “I said I need to get a clock.”

She sits erect now. “Oh. My. Gosh!” She throws her hands and head up to the ceiling, looking to God for answers. “I cannot believe this!”

And so the dramatics commence. I make my way over to the opposite couch, knowing I’m in for a well-earned earful. “I know. I know.”

“Is this the same girl that said clocks were outdated? That it was ridiculous to have one? That you would never need one?” demands.

“I don’t remember those exact words, but I don’t deny it.” She’s referring to over three years ago, my freshman move-in day. She packed the car with what felt like a million things I’d ‘need’ at school in Boston. I’m sure I said whatever would get her to take most of it back with her to New Jersey, including an alarm clock. At the time, I reasoned that there was no use for one since I had an iPhone.

But now I’m trying to get out of the habit of spending 30 minutes on my phone as soon as I wake up. I had the brilliant idea to store my phone in a drawer at night so that it’s out of sight in the morning. But how would I know what time it was? How would I know when to get up? That’s when it hit me: I need a freaking alarm clock.

I explained this to my mom with a ‘You were right. I was wrong.’ spiel. She went pretty easy, only teasing me for a few minutes. “There’s an old one in the basement,” she said, and with that I was on my way to get me a clock!

—

There’s poetry in this realization. Instead of making resolutions, I came with a phrase for 2021: Time Well Spent. A personal mantra, if you will. This year, my goal is to spend time everyday doing things that reflect the life I want to live and create. Personally, I don’t dream of a life that involves spending hours of the day mindlessly scrolling.

If a life well lived is curated from days well spent, then I think days well spent begin with intentional mornings.

—

In my ideal morning I wake up just as the sun begins to creep up the horizon. I watch from my window as he paints the sky orange, then lavender, then fuchsia, inch by inch. My lips spread into a soft smile as I stretch out and take in some deep breaths, remembering how good it feels to be alive and healthy.

I have an urge to say thank you to something, everything. So I do. I say thank you to God for another day, thank you to the sun for rising. Thank you to my eyes for letting me see, my ears for letting me hear, my body for letting me feel the breaths rush in and spill out.

I say thank you for my space by tidying it up. I straighten out my bed and pick up whatever I threw on the floor in a tired frenzy the night before. I say thank you to my body by easing it out of any stiffness that has built from hours of awkward sleeping. I flow through some yoga positions, whatever feels good. I say thank you to my mind, by offering it a few minutes to do nothing. I sit still on my bed and watch any thoughts or feelings that arise. Doing this helps me shift into a perspective of acceptance and compassion for my mind, and reminds me to approach the day’s circumstances from this perspective.

By now the sun is high enough to pour into my room and paint my walls a rich amber. I sit in front of my window, soaking in the light and the moment. My gratitude begins to transmute into inspiration. I imagine what I will do with the opportunity of a new day. Grabbing my journal, I plan it out, picturing it clearly in my head first, then writing these intentions down, until all that’s left is to get up and do.

I get dressed and head to the kitchen to prepare myself a cup of tea. (English Breakfast Vanilla & Honey, 3 teaspoons of sugar, a splash of almond milk. mmmm) While I sip, I spend some time writing. Either a story I’m working on or a short entry like this one. Once the day gets rolling, it’s easy to get caught up in emails and homework. I allow myself these few minutes first thing in the morning to completely focus on a craft and flow in creativity.

Once my writing session is over, I’m due for some family time. My brother yells through the house, “Are we walking?!” We all bundle up, pile into the car, and head to the park.

A year ago if you’d told me I would be voluntarily going for strolls through the park in the middle of the winter, I would have called you crazy. Now, with no obligation to leave my house every day, I look forward to throwing on my gloves and scarf, coat and mask, to get some fresh air.

We do a lap or two around the parking lot, discussing topics from things going on in the world to what we’ll eat for lunch. It’s precious bonding time. Together we appreciate the pleasantness of the sun on our faces, the expansion of our lungs, and the ability to stretch our legs for a few minutes.

To cap off the walk, I drift over to the lake. Once we get back home, the day will commence and I’ll laser in on my to-do list. So for the last few minutes of my morning I sit by the water. I watch the sun dance on the lake’s surface as it flows up stream in tiny ripples. I listen to it hiccup as the wind nudges it up against the earth, with sounds of leaves rustling and ducks quacking in the background.

I laugh in disbelief that I have a life where I experience this much joy and witness all this beauty. I say thank you one last time and promise to do something equally as beautiful with the opportunity. I head back to the car, back home, and start the day.

—

Not every morning is an ideal one. Some sunrises are hidden by clouds. Sometimes I’m too tired to get up or too agitated to write or it’s too cold for a walk. On these days the execution varies, but the intention remains the same.

I want a life centered around the experience of gratitude, one in which I can offer compassion to myself and others, and where I do work that I’m passionate about and that I believe is valuable. I try to plan mornings that reflect these values.