Sometimes you win …
Brooklyn Bridge at Night, 1948 Gelatin Silver, by Andreas Feininger
I managed to crawl out of bed at my usual ridiculous weekday hour in the morning today. My head is still spinning a bit from being tired and I’ve been fighting off waves of didn’t-get-enough-sleep headaches — not to complain, which I’m not, but to state that the inconveniences of those feelings are out-weighed by the suppleness my limbs feel after my third downward dog pose and all the other stretches these creaky bones held this morning.
While I may or may not get to four rounds of shadow boxing when I finish this piece, the hiss of the steam, wanderings of the kitty and the sounds of the house as it reverberates with the slow morning echoes from the street below gives me something else. A kind of serenity as I greet the day before the stresses and hustle and bustle of all the have-to’s begin to settle on it.
When one has a busy life with a tons of constituent parts that demand time, attention and thought, it’s so very nice to have the gift of a few minutes that aren’t in competition. Rather, they’re just for oneself. A little piece of the world one can own — if not quite the room Virginia Wolfe envisioned where one could state, “I am,” this place has more to do with a gift of quiet. And sure, predawn self-ministrations get “old” by Thursday morning when the accumulated hours of missed sleep are wearying, however, the idea of finding a part of the day for quiet doesn’t. I’ve been keeping to this schedule for six weeks now and have to say that occasional grumpiness aside these moments of quiet have truly given me something I didn’t expect: a place of peace that’s a little of my own.
Girlboxing 
I’m absorbing your serenity. I’ll be having “one of those days.” It really stinks when you know it in advance.
Hey Margaret, I’m hoping your day turned out to be less of a bear than anticipated.
Ah, this is lovely to read. It makes me want to figure out a way to create the same sort of poetic beauty in my life. Do you think we create these spaces or do they just happen and we look at them through a lens of beauty and gratefulness? Or both… Sigh. Thank you for the measure of peacefulness you shared with us here.
I think its a question of both. I’m finding that the focused breathing in the yoga is helping me to slow down–that in turn creates the space for observation. The truth is I’ve needed this for a long time and am grateful that I’ve overcome my resistance enough to haul my bones out of bed every morning to make it a habit 😉