When I was 23, I had a newsroom job that started at 6:30 a.m. Not being a morning person, this was my idea of getting ready in the morning:
- Set the alarm for 15 minutes before I have to leave the house.
- After the alarm goes off, jump out of bed, spend 7 minutes in the shower, wring my hair with a towel, and throw on some clothes.
- Feed the cats, throw a frozen dinner in a plastic grocery bag, and head out the door.
- Upon walking into work, head for the bathroom, where I put on eyeliner and run a comb through my hair, which had dried on the car ride over.
- Two hours later, when the first work deadline has passed, take a break and eat the frozen dinner I had packed for breakfast.
I couldn’t believe those shlub coworkers of mine, with their crazy stories of waking up at 5 or even 4:30 in the morning to get to work on time. How could it possibly take that long to get ready in the morning!? I wondered. How could they give up on those precious extra minutes of morning sleep?
Twenty years later, let’s just say, I have a different perspective. I have become one of those shlubs who spends an hour getting ready in the morning, although not — I confess — because I’ve developed some higher standard of personal hygiene or concern for my outward appearance. And I still can’t be bothered with breakfast.
Now I take that long to get ready in the morning because, like the Tin Man on Wizard of Oz, I just can’t convince my middle-aged body that it actually wants to move.
This is what my morning routine looks like now:
- The night before I am expected to be somewhere by a certain time, concoct some reason why I can’t make it at that hour, and move it to an hour later.
- Set the alarm for 60 minutes before I have to leave the house.
- After the alarm goes off, spend the next 20 minutes hitting the “snooze” button. Each time it goes off, scream F*#k! in my head and slam the button down again.
- Four snoozes later, trudge into the shower. Start out standing, but after a few minutes feel too tired to stand, so sit down in the shower. After several minutes of being pelted in the face, switch to the bath faucet, and spend 20 minutes soaking in the tub, thinking F*#k! Do I really have to go somewhere? Wring hair with a towel, throw on some clothes.
- Amble into the kitchen, glare at my husband — just because the poor guy happens to be there — and plop down at the kitchen table. Kick the cat that walks over, meowing for food, and spend 20 minutes sipping highly caffeinated tea, thinking F*#k, if I don’t leave in 10 … 9 … 8 minutes, I’m going to be late.
- Go back to the bathroom, put on some eyeliner, grab my purse and go out the door.
The sages taught that each Jew should try to say at least 100 brachot (blessings) a day. Our traditional prayerbook offers some beautiful ones to start out the day, known as “Birchot Hashachar.” The blessings offer thanks to a benevolent God for such things as opening the eyes of the blind, freeing the captive, and clothing the naked.
Those are mighty ambitious sentiments for any time before 11 a.m., me thinks.
My birchot hashachar — my morning blessings — are a bit more modest. If, for example, I can get from the bed to the kitchen table without thinking the word “F*#k!” one single time — I’m actually doing pretty damn good ~er, I mean darn.
Can an absence of profanity count as a bracha?
I’d like to suggest Yes.
On other good days, I might actually think a positive thought in that first hour of my waking. Something like: “Wow, the sun is out, and I don’t, for once, wish with every fiber of my being that I were waking up in Miami. Maybe Smelly-delphia isn’t a total hellhole after all!”
Can an absence of despair count as a statement of gratitude?
I like to think so.
Then, on my most best, golden ticket days, my morning Grouch turns into a bona fide innocuous human being. You know, one of those basically pleasant people who doesn’t glare at her husband and kick her cat, and otherwise wishes she were dead in that first painful hour of the day. On these days, I’ve been known to actually hug the said husband and feed the said cat.
Can an absence of jerkdom count as an act of virtuousness?
I like to hope so.
Blessed are you Adonai, creator of the universe, who has enabled me to start the day like a reasonable human being.
Amen. Selah.
Good to hear from you. Been thinking I should call. Can’t believe you haven’t already seen this but it seems like you are one of the people it was written for.
“Dear God; So far, today has been a good day for me. I have told no lies, I did not swear, steal, lust or hurt anyone. I have not commited any sins. I am going to get out of bed soon and I’m fairly certain that I will need your help from then on.”
I have been contemplating my morning prayer routine, as part of an ongoing conversation about making davenning more meaningful, and here’s what I concluded:
In thinking about creating a personal prayer practice, I found that my choices were very greatly influenced by the way in which I think prayer works, or perhaps, to put it another way, what prayer does. So I began by trying to clarify my own thinking about that before I began to address prayer itself.
Primarily, I think prayer is a way of verbalizing or sometimes embodying intention. I want to establish and then reinforce healthy frames of mind. I want to align myself with that which is best in me and to support that which is best in my community. I literally believe that if enough of us worked at this, the world itself would change, so it is not just an exercise in naval gazing or self-improvement. I think it is an act of tikkun olam.
At the start of the day I want to prepare myself to go out and meet the world, to begin my work of the day, whatever it is. There is a phrase from my Episcopal days “Lift up your heart”. When I do this there is an actual physical sensation – it is as if a river of love and gratitude is flowing through me. I want to begin the day in that way. Music is more likely to get me there than words. And since I have the stereo going, a little rhythm to get the body moving and the blood flowing is good as well. That is as far as I have gotten with the routine — music that lifts my spirit and makes me a channel for peace. It needs words. It needs affirmations of the values I want to represent in the world. Words have power and repeating them cements them in your mind, so that they arise spontaneously during the day when you need them. The words might change with the seasons and crises of life.
Actually, I’m using Jesse Cook’s rhuma connection as a sort of niggun to get my head in the right place. Thanks for introducing me to his music.
Hang in. If you can afford to come out here and let the wind blow through your hair and mind for a little bit, take a break. You won’t live in Philadelphia forever.
Gail, I sure I hope I don’t live here forever!