How One Early Bird Does It

I am not a morning person. I respect the beliefs of morning people, and even converted briefly. Their core values -- discipline, proactivity, and exhaustion by 9 p.m. -- are assets, even inspiration, to a productive society. Those of us with allegiance to comfy blankets and Downy-soft sheets may enjoy safety in our great numbers, and we must be sensitive not to treat Morningites as inferior simply because they are different from us.

On this cloudy morning I awoke to my usual system check of stiff muscles and heavy eyelids. To begin lifting the brain-fog I usually do a couple of exercises. One of them is to crane my neck, peer nearsightedly at the clock, and calculate the number of sleep minutes remaining. A second one is more useful for people of all creeds.

A man worn down by life and frazzled to the end of his nerves awoke one morning in his usual harried state. He happened to look out the window to measure the weather, and his eyes fell upon a nest in the nearby branches. The movement that had caught his attention was that of a baby bird. As the man watched with fascination, the bird slowly stretched out each part of its tiny body to the fullest. This went on for several minutes. At the end, having thus massaged its wings, legs, and neck, it threw back its head and let loose with a powerful song.

The man was struck by the simple logic and beauty of it. The rhythm of most natural bodies awakens gradually. Was he breaking himself down by launching so abruptly into the duties and worries of each day?

He made the morning ritual his own, right down to the singing! Me too.