Conscious Choice: The Unbearable Lightness of Waking

August 2004 | BackWords

The Unbearable Lightness of Waking

by Mandy Burrell

My partner is of the teddy bear variety. He’s squeezably soft, more than a little fuzzy and he truly loves to cuddle. He sometimes can’t resist adding honey to his cup of coffee on top of a couple heaping tablespoons of sugar. (Yes, really.)

We live together, which means that every morning I get to witness The Rise of the Slumbering Bear. I’ll admit, the first couple (hundred) times I found myself in the presence of this curious ritual, I failed to afford it due reverence.

Thing is, when a slumbering bear rises, it doesn’t do so with the plain grace of, say, a swan or a butterfly. Lip-smacking is involved and sometimes errant saliva. Seemingly involuntary bellows accompany mighty stretching maneuvers. This time may persist for up to six snooze cycles. Eventually the bear — er, my boyfriend — makes his way from the bed to the living room couch, where the ritual continues.

I used to believe that this change of location signified he was awake. Now I know better. Belly itching, eye rubbing and unintelligible grumbling punctuate the couch phase, which, incidentally, can last longer than the snooze cycle phase. Indeed, the final Awakening likely won’t occur for at least another hour, after a shower and some coffee.

The Rise of the Slumbering Bear is as unapologetic as it is sublime in its lengthiness. And until I saw the light, its excruciating slowness irritated me. Compared with my own morning, my boyfriend’s seemed decadent. By the time he was finally ready to join the world, I’d have run three or four miles, done a load each of dishes and laundry, put my lunch together and sent out a couple of e-mails.

Of course, it took me a long time before I realized the best solution was slowing down my own morning. That was only after I failed in trying to hurry up his. For obvious reasons, this plan produced less than satisfying results. Huffing and puffing not only failed to prod my partner, but it also siphoned time and energy from my own morning. Off I’d go to work, fuming over the sink full of dishes, a crummy bagged lunch — and my well-rested boyfriend. Throwing a wrench in my boyfriend’s morning routine was a mistake. Clearly, screwing up the first moments of his day wouldn’t fix mine. But once I finally realized that, things got tougher before they got easier. If I couldn’t blame my crazy mornings on someone else, then I’d have to find a way to better them myself.

The first thing I had to do was figure out what was amiss with my mornings. Unlike my boyfriend, who lumbers headfirst into blissful oblivion each a.m., I pop up, fully awake, thoughts racing. I used to dream. But more and more it seems I spend my nights compiling a running list of current to-dos, personal concerns and future plans.

A well-meaning friend suggested I try a ten-minute morning meditation. I don’t claim to be a yogi, but I have experienced meditation’s benefits in the past, and I was sure this solution would do the trick. Unfortunately though, rolling straight from a restless night’s sleep into a self-induced state of perfect calm left me wanting to crawl back in bed — right about the time when I really needed to hop in the shower and greet the day.

On one hand, meditating didn’t work. On the other, it helped me realize that to improve my morning, I’d need to start with my evening. Now I spend half an hour really and truly getting ready for bed. I turn off the computer. I sip a small mug of caffeine-free tea or a warm glass of milk while reading something positive that’s unrelated to work. By the time I wash my face and brush my teeth, the warmth in my belly starts to travel to my brain and it’s almost time for bed.

The most important change I made was to say my nightly prayers again, just like I did when I was a child. After all, what is prayer but signing over that mental list of current to-dos, personal concerns and future plans to someone or something eminently more qualified to deal with them than me? Talk about taking a load off. With my worries literally laid to rest, I sleep noticeably better. I knew I made a breakthrough when I started to recall my dreams again.

Then I turned my attention back to my mornings. I hated to admit it, but I knew I could take a couple of pointers from my partner. For instance, there’s something really empowering about hitting that snooze button once or twice before surrendering to the day. And it feels awesome to stretch first thing in the morning (They don’t call it a sun salutation in yoga for nothing.) Since I still wake up before my man, I do try to keep the satisfied sighs and groans to myself. But five minutes is all it takes to coax my muscles into a happy place and I’m ready for my morning run, which I cherish as my alone time most days.

A type-A neatnik, I’ve made a huge effort to cut back on morning chores. I think about it like this: It’s doubtful that the world’s happiest people welcome the day by digging into a mound of dirty dishes or taking out the trash. So why should I?

Not surprisingly, my slower morning has had a ripple effect on my entire day. Instead of charging out like a horse from the gates, most days I stroll out with a wink and a smile.

And the Slumbering Bear? He’s happier, too. How can I tell? Every once in awhile, instead of a grumble, I get a discernable “I love you” — even before the coffee.

Mandy Burrell is a former Conscious Choice Associate Editor, who is waking up these days to work at the Metropolitan Planning Council.

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