The one where I got up early

I'm still figuring out what I'd like this blog (in general) to be about. Part of me thinks it should be devoted to journalism, writing and editing, as that's what occupies most of my waking life, or otherwise the business of freelancing. But then another part wonders if people might be rather more interested in reading quirky bits and pieces about Paris. Anyway, today I am going totally off-piste and writing a little missive about early starts - which I am historically bad at but would like to improve upon.

What prompted this post is that I have been staying with family in the UK, and this morning I accompanied my sister and her beautiful dog, Bilbo, on a crazy-early walk in the Surrey countryside. Now, this might not sound very newsworthy in itself, but Parisians (of which I consider myself a sort of tenuous adoptee) are notoriously late risers. If anyone needs any further convincing, just check out the empty stands when the first matches of the day start at Roland Garros. Enough said.

My sister, on the other hand, who lives back in Surrey, is the queen of early mornings. She works with horses, so is always up with the larks, or in fact before them - as she has to walk her dog beforehand. And while she is outwardly respectful of my slovenly Parisian habits, I can't help but feel like something of a failure when she is often up a full three hours before I surface. So, this morning, I decided I would haul myself out of bed at the crack of dawn, admittedly sloth-like, to join her.

It was still dark when we left the house, and the wisps of mist so thick that it clung to our coats. But tramping through those first fallen leaves of the season, not another soul in sight, I found myself starting to warm to the idea. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all. Later, as the sun emerged over the horizon, and the pale-rose rays began to fragment through the droplets in the air, I actually began to get it. As it turns out, autumn sunrises in Surrey are not too shabby.

But as regular early risers will know all too well, it's not just the early-morning experience in itself that makes the whole thing worthwhile. It's the way it makes you feel for the rest of the day. It's like you're suddenly ahead of the game. I won't go so far as to say I hit inbox zero while everyone else was still sleeping, but I was down to five emails when I would normally still be comatose. And there's no doubt that it made me feel calmer, too, and just generally more in control of my day.

Of course, there have been tons of books devoted to this phenomenon. Among the most notable are The 5am Club by Robin Sharma (which, quelle surprise, my sister recommended to me aeons ago but I hadn't quite got around to reading), The Miracle Morning by Hal Elrod (not quite sure I'd describe the experience as a miracle, though to be fair it was a miracle I got out of bed in time) and What the Most Successful People do Before Breakfast by Laura Vanderkam (though, actually, it's always been my opinion that no one should do anything important on an empty stomach).

Suffice to say, when it comes to self-help books, it feels to me that there just aren't enough hours in the day (see what I did there...). It's a bit like that book Getting Things Done by David Allen, which still lies untouched on my shelf some five years after I bought it.

Anyway, I digress. I guess I just wanted to say that I suppose I am starting to sort of see the appeal of the early morning - and what all those productivity gurus are on about. And it's true that I would like to try to get up earlier in the day. But maybe starting from next week...