Rhena Writes

Tag: morning routine

  • The first hour of my day.

    Daily writing prompt
    What are your morning rituals? What does the first hour of your day look like?
    View all responses

    My alarm goes off at 6 am. I should probably move that back to 5:55 to give myself five minutes of lazing and stretching. The soles of my feet and heels always ache and burn when I place them on the floor and take my first few steps. I’m trying to figure out what stretches or movements I can do before getting out of bed so that there’s less pain. Or else maybe just to give myself a few more moments of being awake and not suffering. I know. I know. All life is suffering. I cannot delay these moments.

    I change from my shorts into pants and then use the bathroom, clean my night guard, scrape my tongue, and brush my teeth. I check my phone to see how many hours I slept the night before. I realize now, typing this that this is a silly habit, born of a distrust of myself and my own body. I know, for example, that I did not sleep well for one long stretch last night. Yes, my watch confirmed it, but so did my body and my memory. Does the idea of my watch monitoring me in my sleep in fact disrupt my sleep? Would my sleeplessness bother me less if my phone hadn’t confirmed it? Is the technology helping or hindering me in my quest for rest? Do I need more data to answer these questions? Or do I need to trust myself more?

    I retrieve my glass of water from my nightstand and my yoga mat from the closet. I roll out the mat on whichever floor space near windows is available and set the timer for ten minutes for some meditation, light stretching, and sun salutations. I am unnecessarily attached to the idea of doing this part of my routine near the windows where I can peer out at the trees and, on some mornings, see the moon. It seems so picturesque, like something from IG accounts that I have scrolled. But the truth is that all of that is a distraction from my attempts to use this time to listen to my body and to give it what it needs. As for the moon? I do not think she cares one way or the other whether I am near a window to greet her, to admire her beauty. She is there, somewhere. And that is enough.

    I roll up my mat and set my tea to steep before I: take my medicine (trying to remember to be grateful that my morning dose is one tiny pill these days), let the dog out (and check to make sure the older children are awake and getting reading for school at the same time), and return my mat to its place in the closet. I finish making the tea (you can see my more in-depth take on this central morning ritual at this blog post: The Doctrine of Chai) and settle into my morning spot on the couch. I’ll alternate between writing and chatting with the kids and my husband and seeing them all off for the day. I’ll feed the dog at some point in there, but otherwise I’ll use that time to sip my tea and water and, most importantly, to write.

  • Another Moment

    What emerges from a moment of silence? from stillness? What words need to be written right now?

    These are the questions that I’m asking right now. I know that there is an inner voice, deep inside of me that has been silenced and covered over by chaos. I spent a good portion of the morning on the phone with the pharmacy, my insurance, a pharmaceutical company, trying to get my latest prescription filled without having to fork over $120 each month. I felt like the ball in the old pinball machines slamming between those pop bumpers. By the end of the morning, the “notes” section of my weekly planner was filled with numbers and vague notes, none of which had anything to do with healing. Three or so of those minutes were spent listening to various messages, menus, and selecting options before I realized that I’d mis-dialed (I’d replaced the 888 with 800 because I apparently never left the 80s behind). It wasn’t until after I responded “yes” to the voice asking “can you hear me?” that I realized that the whole thing had been a recording. I’d been primed to talk about medicine and the scammers on the other end were prepared with an offer of a free medical alert device. As I hung up, I inwardly cringed for their real targets: those perhaps slightly older than me who also misdialed.

    So, yes, this is all part of the chaos that I have to dig through to get to some sort of silence. The stillness.

    I’m trying to establish some new habits and routines. This morning was my first time doing some stretches on my kitchen floor. The sun wasn’t up yet and so the lights, dim as I’d kept them, were reflecting off the glass of the windows, so that the pendants hanging from the ceiling seemed to be overlapping with the tree branches outside. I think that this will make me grateful for the next time I look directly at that tree, unhindered by the reflections.

    And that’s a bit of what I mean about the chaos layering over the silence, the stillness. I’d like to be able to hear the trees. But there’s so much noise.

    I set a timer when I stretch. Ten minutes. There’s no preset sequence. I just try to listen to what my body wants and needs. Move where it needs to go. Ten minutes is incredibly long when my body is in charge.

    I decided at some point that this would be a blog entry where I would just sit down, set a timer, and write what’s on my mind. That’s what this is then. I’m trying to …