Good Morning, Arden.

photo by Heather Auman

A friend of mine told me a story about one of the former owners of her house. Legend has it that the woman used to rise each morning, throw open the windows to Arden's busiest road, and greet the day wearing nothing more than a smile. In my head, I imagine her waving at all the passersby.  I, too, am a morning person, but have not quite settled in on my morning routine. A regular pattern of action eludes me, which is strange because I so crave ritual in this part of my day.  It is like a puzzle I want to figure out.

I have mentioned before that I took a course at Omega in October of 2012 with Eric Maisel, renowned psychotherapist to us artist types. His wisdom came down to the fact that as artists, we must make meaning first thing in the day or risk spinning into depression. Have your morning pee, grab your cup of coffee, but that is it. The first hour of your day is spent in meaning making.  This isn't the Julia Cameron Morning Pages where you write stream of consciousness for thirty minutes without pausing to lift your hand from the page. I've tried making that my morning practice. It was a very whiney way to start my day. Dr. Maisel has you using your clear morning mind to tackle your art.  I could really get on board with this practice. I could! Certainly if I get in a writing groove, it might mean I skip breakfast or that I am still in my pajamas at noon when the mail carrier knocks on my door with a package. I could live that life.

Here is the problem. I want to do everything first thing in the morning. I want to get my exercise out of the way first thing because it makes me feel good about myself. And if I don't do it then, sometimes I let it slide. I want to walk with the Misty Morning Walkers who come by my house at approximately 8:12 AM on their loop around the three Ardens. I am so stiff when I get out of bed in the morning that I should stretch, probably do at least thirty minutes of yoga, before I sit myself in a chair behind my computer or worse, sit on my soft armchair with my feet on the ottoman. When I go get a massage, it is as if my therapist is untangling knots that would make a sailor cry. It is getting so bad, that my mobility has suffered, and not just a little. I want to meditate. This morning I did a guided meditation from Deepak Chopra in which the centering thought was "I use the organizing power of my awareness." Apparently the key is to become centered and to meditate myself to an organized morning. It didn't happen. Last but not least, I want to make the bed and empty the dishwasher first thing in the morning. My son used to put away the dishes for me when he was home. I love starting off the day with a made bed and an empty dishwasher.

And then there is the fact that I feel as though I am always waiting for my husband to vacate before I do anything meaningful. It is one thing when it is warm enough for me to be out on my screen porch where I am out of his way. But I don't want to be in the middle of a meditation and hear the ironing board screech. Plus I want to make sure I get my goodbye kiss before he leaves. Sometimes he dawdles.  Is it too much to ask for him to pick an exit time and stick to it? Now I have to help him with a morning routine.

I do not know what the answer is for me. I will continue type hack my morning into Google search engine, but my Goo-ru has not figured out all the answers for me yet. We do have a great balcony off our bedroom and probably live on the quietest rode in town. Even though the only person I would scare would be my neighbor, Debbi, I don't think I am ready to greet the day with full nudity. Maybe the same thing could be accomplished with a stylish kimono. Good Morning, Arden.