‘The world is particularly beautiful at 5am’: How I became a morning person

In a surprising turn of life events, I have become a morning person. A smug one. I am unbearable, I am sorry to say, but once you become a morning person, it is very, very hard to not brag about it

Many years ago, I wrote a column which readers really loved – not, sadly, because of the quality of the writing, but because of the sentiment behind it.

I wrote about getting into a lift at a department store after a vigorous morning of shoplifting with my toddler. My then-two year old was a confirmed kleptomaniac given to squirrelling goods away in his romper suit and I was on my way to return them. I was hot, tired, cranky and worried about raising a future felon, when the lift doors opened.

Inside, an elderly man in a tweed suit and wearing a flat cap tipped his hat to me and said: “Joy in the morning.”

Now, I have to tell you that back then I was not a “joy in the morning” type of person; I was more of a “go directly to jail, do not pass go, do not collect $200” sort of person.

But his words were so lovely they stopped me in my tracks. Also the fact he had tipped his hat to me.

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I don’t know about the rest of you gals, but it had been a long, long time since a man tipped his hat to me – and it’s never happened since – but it was both unexpected and lovely.

Now, I do realise that, as a feminist, I am not perhaps meant to be wholly receptive to such gestures, but let me tell you, it was all I could do not to fall to a curtsy, flutter my lashes, and say: “Why, thank you, kind sir, and aren’t you just a slice of peach pie?”

Back then, I was not a morning person, and in my teenage years and twenties I was certainly not a morning person, unless you count getting home from a nightclub when the sun was coming up wearing one shoe.

A morning cup of tea.

But, in a surprising turn of life events, I have become one. A smug one.

I am unbearable, I am sorry to say, but once you become a morning person, it is very, very hard to not brag about it. Because you get so much more done, don’t you?

In the wee, small hours when the rest of the family is asleep, it’s amazing how much you can do without anyone asking you what’s for breakfast, where are their jeans, and can they borrow your car to get to work because they forgot to put petrol in theirs? You know who you are.

But there is something else, too, about my now 5am early rising. The world is particularly beautiful then. It is quiet, save for the chorus of birdsong and the snatches of conversation from early morning walkers.

Frances Whiting. Picture: David Kelly

It is peaceful; the house is silent save for the odd creaks and groans from its bones, and the familiar, whooshing sounds from the washing machine because I have (smugly) put a load on.

Our dog, Wilson, sleeps in the corner beneath his blanket, his paws moving, chasing something is his sleep, and as I pad about the house, doing this and that, a cup of tea in my hands, I realise I have finally, truly and completely understood that elderly man’s words. I have found joy in the morning.

Originally published as ‘The world is particularly beautiful at 5am’: How I became a morning person