People who talk about morning rituals often sound like they live in a different universe than I do. They wake up at 5:00 a.m., meditate, journal, stretch, drink lemon water, read something profound, and greet the sunrise like it’s a personal appointment.
Meanwhile, some mornings I wake up, look at the clock, and realize I need to be dressed, functional, and out the door in about eighteen minutes.
Yesterday was one of those mornings. I woke up late, moved at the speed of panic, and less than twenty minutes later I was in the car headed to work, still mentally trying to catch up with the fact that the day had apparently already started without my permission. An hour into my morning, I was already at school.
On my better days — meaning the days when I resemble a person who has at least a loose agreement with time — the routine starts with turning on the TV, usually to NewsNation Morning in America, because apparently I like beginning the day with headlines reminding me that the world is still chaotic before I even brush my teeth. Then comes the quick shower, quick shave if needed, brush teeth, put on clothes, and move with enough speed to suggest I may have done this before.
Breakfast is usually more theory than reality. Most mornings, if I eat breakfast, it happens later at Wawa, where I pick up something edible and refill my oversized 64-ounce cup — because yes, I carry that much soda, and yes, it’s zero calories, which somehow makes it feel like a responsible decision. Whether science agrees is another matter.
The most important part of the morning is not food or television. It’s the checkpoint.
Before I leave, I run through what I call the “Nuns on the Run” system — my personal mnemonic for not walking into the day missing something essential. Originally it covered four things, but over time I’ve expanded it into a full inventory: glasses, earbuds, keys, ID badge, cell phone, wallet, watch. The mnemonic no longer logically matches the number of items, but neither does half of adult life, so that feels appropriate.
Because if I skip that step, something gets left behind. Usually the phone. Sometimes the badge. Occasionally I make it all the way to the car before realizing I’m missing one piece of the puzzle and have to turn around like a man defeated by his own front hallway.
And somehow, even with all of that, the first hour of my day still disappears in strange little ways. I get caught up in the news. I play a quick brain game. I talk to Daryl, which is never wasted time. I stare at the clock and wonder how five minutes became fifteen.
So no, I don’t really have a polished morning ritual.
I have habits, half-habits, recovery plans, caffeine logistics, and one mnemonic that keeps life from falling apart before 7:00 a.m.
And honestly, that may be close enough.
Copyright © 2026 Doug DeBolt.
