Staring into my phone first thing into the morning is my digital version of waking up on the wrong side of the bed. These are the kinds of days where the first sun I see isn’t the one outside my window, but the tiny icon on my weather app. The first thing I touch isn’t my wife’s soft skin, but the cold glass on my screen. The first voice I hear isn’t my own through writing or meditation, but the familiar voice of one of the strangers whose podcasts I subscribe to. When I wake up and immediately reach for my phone, I’m effectively taking the backseat in my ride through the day.
Going first for my phone before anything else isn’t the cause, but rather the symptom (and perpetuator) of a greater issue of waking up to the hum of anxiety. That may have been caused by going to bed with unresolved thoughts or worries, which may have been caused by staying up too late watching or reading something that might be considered the opposite of a lullaby, which may have been fueled by the need to cram extra things into a day that felt unfulfilled, which was probably due to me not feeling like I had agency over that day because I took a backseat. And the cycle continues.
I keep falling off this wagon of daily morning writing, and maybe it’s unrealistic for me, given my personality and this era of distractions and this life of demands, to expect to keep up such a habit. The days when I wake up and take a walk, then half an hour to sit, then another hour to write – when I drink water before coffee, when I talk to a loved one before an acquaintance – might not necessarily be my most “productive” days. But they’re definitely the most fulfilling. The world is moving at such a pace, that I may go months without giving myself even one of these fulfilling days.
This blog has existed in various forms for almost 12 years now, and I keep having to remind myself that it’s not about clicking the “Publish” button, but rather sitting down to write in the first place. I’ve stripped my site of analytics and comments for the very reason that those features could end up informing how and why I come here, which can then drive my entire day. Constantly, I have to remember that maybe the only one who really truly cares about all of these words is me, and that’s more than okay.