At 5:11 AM today, I turned 43. I had some spicy insomnia last night and didn’t fall asleep until about 4 AM, and now I think I should have stayed awake another hour to ring in my newest year.
When I was very little, I got up around 5:00 every morning. At two years old, I would get myself out of bed, unlock the front door, and go chase the neighborhood cats around while wearing my footie pajamas.
My parents had no idea of my escapes until our 10-year-old paperboy brought me home one morning and tattled on me. He advised my parents to get me my own cat, thus negating the need to break out of the house before dawn.
My parents got me a beautiful little calico named Coconut, but I still got up ridiculously early every day. This continued until high school, when my teenage body discovered the joy of sleeping until noon.
I wish I could go back to my days of waking up happily at 5 AM. I would like to be much like little-kid Kelly in many ways, who always woke up early, spoke her mind, exercised through play (not as punishment), and loved herself without question, without knowing there was an alternative.
I have developed pretty crap habits over the past 30 years or so, some that are 100% my fault, many more that I developed through trying to keep my head above water.
For the next year, I am going to put serious, conscious effort into being more like little Kelly. By the time my 44th birthday rolls around, I hope to be happier, healthier, more at peace. I’m not aiming for anything remotely close to perfection; more like an intentional return to not caring about perfection.
As for 5 AM wake ups, I am only doing it if there are plenty of cats to chase.
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