The Incomparable Power of Mornings

An Existential Tribute to the Profound Act of Getting Up

When I was in college, I slept in as much as I could. I stayed up late, and tried to savor the night, as if something or someone was going to take them away from me at some point — and I had to savor every last morsel on the plate of my life. Someone did eventually take the nights away. It was me. I took them away because nothing worthwhile happened for me late at night. What I had been missing was the mornings.

You see, when I would stay up late, and walk around that college town, I would get this feeling like I was the world’s benevolent father — patting it on the head compassionately, as I put it to bed for the night. I was the wise one. Those who slept were missing out on something magical.

But what I failed to realize is that it’s just not true. The world wasn’t really going to sleep. And if I was the benevolent father, quietly closing the door after a kiss on the head, the world was a mischievous child, waiting until I wasn’t looking, so it could wake up and quietly sneak out for all sorts of unsavory business. I thought I was wise and reflective at night. Really, I was tired and foolish.

The thing about the night is that people stay up. It’s easy to stay up. You simply don’t go to sleep. It’s maintaining the…