I am an enigma wrapped up in contradictions which I suppose is true of most people. I have a morning routine that involves a long stretch of quiet time before the rest of the world awakens. I like to watch the sun rising with as little noise as possible and definitely no conversation of any kind. Too much cheeriness before I am ready literally rattles my brain and sends me off balance for the rest of the day. Since the men in my house usually sleep two or three hours later than I do, I don’t have to dodge chit chat or well intentioned “good mornings” that induce the same kind of dread for me as fingernails scraping across a blackboard.
Once my foibles have been carefully protected I’m ready to take on the day and I become as chatty and animated as anyone. Since this is the version of me that most people see, they would no doubt be confused by my reclusive early morning self. Thankfully in the state of retirement I have all the time that I need to successfully begin each day in a way that really works for me.
When I was still working I actually enjoyed having to drive long distances to reach the schools where I taught. In the isolation of my car I was able to prepare myself for the interactions to come. If I was truly fortunate I would go directly to my classroom upon arrival and silently prepare for the day that lay ahead. By the time the students arrived I would be ready to handle the hubbub that is an inevitable part of teaching.
I always got along with my first period classes because teenagers never seemed to be fully awake in the first hour of the school day. They liked my quiet voice and the fact that I usually made few demands for them to interact as long as I sensed that they were paying attention. I did not mind that they sometimes wrapped themselves in blankets and seemed to be vacillating between wakefulness and an urge to catch a few more zzzs. I understood them and so we had a kind of mutual respect for one another that worked quite well.
As the school day wore on I became more and more animated and that energy would follow me home. I was wired and ready to tackle any challenges while chatting all the way. I suspect that there were times when I drove my family crazy with my nonstop iterations of all that had happened during my day.
I still do that in the evenings. Like a creature of the night I come alive and appear to have the personality of a full blown extrovert. I’m like a Chatty Cathy whose off button does not work. Given an opportunity to talk with someone I am open for any amount of time. I become adventurous and ready to go anywhere on a whim. If I did not think it would bother my husband and father-in-law I would engage in big projects in the evening hours because by then I am still raring to go.
Once my energy is sapped I am able to sleep like a baby on most nights unless something is bearing down on my mind. In those times insomnia stalks me and I often give up the fight to rest and arise in the dark to read or do some writing until the anxiety that is keeping me awake settles down and allows me to surrender to slumber.
Mine is a routine that has worked for me for decades. I lucked out in finding a soul mate who did not mind my idiosyncrasies. I have had a tougher time with the arrival of my father-in-law because he awakens with a spring in his step and a hearty “Good Morning!” that makes my teeth hurt. I prepare the kitchen in the dark hours of the morning so that he can fend for himself and the two of us will not have to encounter each other until I am good to go with his cheeriness. On the other hand, he becomes more sedate and lethargic as the day wears on, retiring for the evening at an early hour that precludes my tendencies to work late into the night.
It is amazing how we humans learn to live together even as our personalities are often so very different. We each settle into routines and patterns that work for us and as we grow older it is more and more difficult to adjust as things begin to change. I suppose I truly understand why my father-in-law dreads the very idea of living in the structured environment of senior living. Like me he has his distinct ways and disdains the thought of having to adhere to a schedule created by someone who does not know his emotional needs.
I used to visit my aunt who shared a room in a nursing home with a variety of individuals. I found myself thinking that I would surely go insane if I had to wake up each morning without my alone time. For that matter being forced to comply with a regimen determined by caretakers would be horrific. For now I enjoy the freedom of being myself and allowing my father-in-law to do his thing as well. I am thankful even as I know that the day may come when my freedom will be curtailed and I will have to learn how to go with the flow. Until then I’ll watch the sun rise each morning with nary a sound.
All It Takes Is A Little Love 