I looked over at the clock and didn’t want to accept what it was telling me. Sure, the time said 6:40 am, but that can’t be right. It’s so bright outside already! Besides, I don’t want to get up yet. So, I lay there for the next 20 minutes and will myself to keep my eyes closed even though I’m clearly wide awake. It’s not working.

My wife (clearly awake herself) asks, are you awake?

Not for the next 20 minutes, I respond.

We’re both in on the joke together, except our inability to sleep past 7am is apparently the punchline. Oh well, at least we’ve been going to bed relatively early (between 9-10pm) in an effort to reclaim some of the ground we’ve lost as our bodies acclimate to Pacific time from the East Coast. Meanwhile, for the girls, you know that thing that happens when your kids suddenly wake up early on a non-school day? That’s what we’ve been living with, this suddenly well-rested and wide-awake crew. It’s barely 7am and the day has already started.

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I gather my things, and by things I mean my journal, phone (in case I want to listen to music), and the book I’m currently reading (Arsenio, his recently released memoir), and I begin to make my way outside. We’re at the start of a west coast trip that will take us in a large loop through the state of California. Our first stop is Long Beach where we rented a cute little Spanish style house built in the 1920s just steps from the beach. Right out front is a patio where I’ve been spending my mornings reading, writing, and contemplating.

Despite the fact that we’re traveling and will be sleeping in 6 different places over the next few weeks, a few things will remain constant. I call these my creature comforts. Sike, I just made that up, but it’s actually not a bad name… My most important creature comfort is how I start my day. After brushing my teeth (that one’s for the girls if they’re reading this, truly, how is this still a conversation we’re having guys?), my next move is a little quiet time. It’s an outgrowth of my own faith tradition, where growing up we were taught to begin each day with prayer and meditation, usually on scripture. My practice has evolved since then, but the intentionality behind it hasn’t. It’s something I’m still benefiting from today.

As I make my way to the door, I notice my teenage daughters girls piled up on the coach, one watching the latest Youtube sensation, another playing a video game. My younger two girls are in the bedroom watching some kids show on TV. I decide to make this a teachable moment. I realize that this will likely be the first of many conversations because with kids you never know when something’s going to stick. Besides, it occurs to me that I’ve never explicitly talked to the girls about why I do what I do in the mornings. Of course, they’ve seen me in my office, each morning cuddled up in my big chair by the window, sometimes under my plush orange blanket with a cup of tea. They know I’m in there early, while it’s still quiet, and in the winter when it’s still dark. But they probably don’t know what I’m doing, or why I’m doing it.

I should have started with a question, like, what’s your favorite way to start a day? Instead I asked, how do you start your day usually? It felt more accusatory than I intended. Maybe they didn’t notice, but I doubt it was helpful. Then, without waiting for a real answer (mistake #2), I start to share how I begin my day and why. Now, there’s nothing wrong with that approach. It’s just not exactly built for listening. It doesn’t lead to a dialogue. It was like I was trying to win a debate by proving to them that I’m doing something good, what you’re doing sucks, and you should do better. That trick barely works on my 10-year-old, and even then, not often.

I wrapped up with the case for spending time alone with yourself before you grab your phone or turn on the TV. It’s easy for us, our phones live in the office at home, and none of us, not even Samantha and I, have TVs in our rooms. So the girls love having them on vacation. Still, my point stood: you get to decide how you show up to the day. Use your morning to prepare yourself for it.

As I ended the speech (because let’s face it, that’s more like what it was, a dad speech at 7am in the morning), I looked in the window at my wife for some kind of affirmation and asked, I did good? She knew it will likely take multiple conversations (real ones). But what both of us know is that the most important factor isn’t what we say, but what we do. If parenting has taught us anything, it’s that these lessons are more caught than taught. Sure our kids are listening (I know that because of how much they remind me about what I supposedly said). But they’re mostly watching and trying to make sense of what they see.

If this is a practice I actually want them to carry forward, the best thing I can do, on vacation, and back home, is keep doing it myself and enjoying the benefits of my own growth. And maybe one day they’ll have questions of their own.

SDW3