The Day I Tried to be a Morning Person

I’ve decided to become a morning person. Not because I want to, mind you, but because every successful person on the internet wakes up at 5 AM, drinks lemon water, and does something called “journaling” before the sun comes up. If I don’t start doing this, I’m pretty sure I’ll die poor and unfulfilled, clutching my phone at 2 AM watching videos of people organizing their fridges.

Day one began with my alarm going off at 5:00 AM. I’d carefully chosen a gentle chime sound the night before—something that wouldn’t jolt me awake but would gently coax me into consciousness like a woodland fairy. What I didn’t account for was that at 5:00 AM, there is no difference between a gentle chime and a car alarm. Both are violence.

I managed to turn off the alarm and immediately entered what I call “negotiation mode” with myself. “What if 5:30 is actually the new 5:00?” I thought. “Time is a construct anyway.” Before I knew it, I’d negotiated myself all the way to 7:15 and woke up in a panic, which is apparently my body’s natural alarm setting.

But I was determined. Day two, I actually made it out of bed at 5:00 AM. I stumbled to the kitchen to make my lemon water, only to discover I had no lemons. I had limes though, which are basically angry lemons, so I figured that counted. I sat down to journal, opened my notebook, and wrote: “It’s 5:00 AM and I hate everything.” Then I went back to bed.

Day three was when things got really ambitious. I decided to add exercise to my morning routine because apparently waking up early isn’t enough torture. I put on workout clothes, which was already 80% of the battle, and attempted something I found online called “sunrise yoga.” The video featured a woman on a beach at dawn, folding herself into positions that seemed to defy several laws of physics. I, on the other hand, was in my living room at 5:30 AM, looking like a confused pretzel, when my cat walked by and gave me a look that can only be described as “deep concern for your life choices.”

By day four, I’d convinced myself that maybe the secret wasn’t waking up early—it was having the right tools. So naturally, I went online and bought a wake-up light that simulates the sunrise, a fancy French press for my morning coffee, a meditation cushion, and a book called “The 5 AM Miracle” that I’m pretty sure was written by someone who’s never actually experienced 5 AM. The irony of staying up until midnight shopping for morning routine supplies was not lost on me.

I’m now on day five of my morning person journey, and I’ve learned something important: morning people aren’t more successful because they wake up early. They’re more successful because they go to bed at 9 PM like toddlers, which means they miss all the good TV shows and have never experienced the quiet joy of eating cereal at midnight while standing in front of the refrigerator.

Day six brought a new challenge: I actually woke up at 5 AM feeling somewhat refreshed. This should have been a victory, but instead, I experienced what I call “the 5 AM existential crisis.” Turns out, when you’re awake before the rest of the world, you have way too much time to think about things like: Why do we park in driveways and drive on parkways? Is cereal a soup? Did I respond to that email from three weeks ago? The silence of the early morning isn’t peaceful—it’s an echo chamber for every weird thought you’ve successfully suppressed during normal waking hours.

I also discovered that nothing is open at 5 AM except gas stations and your own personal demons. I had grand plans to “seize the day” but quickly realized that the day doesn’t actually want to be seized until at least 8 AM. Even the birds seemed confused by my presence, chirping at me in a way that felt distinctly judgmental.

By day seven, I’d developed a new theory: maybe I’m not supposed to be a morning person. Maybe some of us are meant to thrive in the afternoon, or evening, or during that weird productive burst that happens at 11 PM when you suddenly have the energy to reorganize your entire closet. The internet never talks about “The 11 PM Miracle,” but perhaps that’s my real power hour.

My final revelation came when I realized I’d spent more time researching, planning, and shopping for my morning routine than I’d actually spent being awake in the morning. I’d watched 47 YouTube videos about “morning routine hacks,” bought a planner specifically for tracking my early wake-up times, and joined two online communities dedicated to the “5 AM club.” At this point, I’d turned waking up early into a full-time job that I was doing in addition to my actual full-time job.

I think I’ll stick with being a night owl. At least my people are honest about our chaos. We don’t pretend that our third cup of coffee at 10 PM is “part of a wellness routine.” We don’t call scrolling through our phones at 1 AM “mindful digital engagement.” We just accept that we come alive when the sun goes down, and honestly, that’s when the best snacks happen anyway.

Plus, someone has to be awake to accept all those late-night package deliveries and send those 2 AM texts that seem profound at the time but look absolutely unhinged in the morning light. That’s our calling. That’s our gift to society.

The morning people can keep their sunrises. I’ll take the moon, thank you very much.