On Morning Routines
I've been thinking about routines lately, and specifically about morning routines, because I've been adjusting mine over the past year or so. This isn't one of those posts about optimizing productivity or hacking your mornings for maximum output. I'm not that kind of person. It's more of a record of what I actually do in the first couple of hours of the day and why I do it that way, in case writing it down helps me understand my own habits better.
I wake up most days between six-fifteen and six-thirty. I don't use an alarm unless I have an early appointment or obligation, which is rare. My body seems to have settled on that window naturally. For a while I tried waking up earlier — five-thirty, then five — because I'd read that early rising was associated with various benefits. It didn't take. I was just tired earlier in the afternoon and not noticeably more productive in the morning. Six-fifteen seems to be where my biology wants me, so I've stopped fighting it.
The first thing I do after getting up is open the blinds in the bedroom and the main room. I read somewhere that early exposure to natural light helps regulate your circadian rhythm, and whether or not the science is as straightforward as that summary suggests, I like the light. It changes the character of the space and signals to my brain that the day has started. On overcast mornings there's less of an effect, obviously, but the habit is the same.
Then I make coffee. This is probably the most detailed and deliberate part of my morning, and I recognize that writing about one's coffee process is a cliche of the personal blog genre, but I'm going to do it anyway. I use a pour-over method — specifically a ceramic dripper with paper filters. I used a French press for years and liked it well enough, but I found that the sediment bothered me over time and the cleanup was slightly more involved than I wanted first thing in the morning. The pour-over produces a cleaner cup and the process itself is simple once you've done it a few hundred times.
I grind the beans fresh each morning with a hand grinder. The electric grinder I used previously was loud enough to feel intrusive at six-thirty, and the hand grinder is quiet and takes about a minute. I use a medium grind, roughly the texture of coarse sand. I heat water in a kettle to just below boiling — I used to use a thermometer but eventually developed a feel for it based on how the kettle sounds. I wet the filter first to rinse out any paper taste, then add the grounds and pour a small amount of water to let them bloom for about thirty seconds. I then pour the remaining water in slow, concentric circles over two or three minutes. The whole process takes about five minutes from grinding to a finished cup.
I drink the coffee black, medium roast from a regional roaster. I buy a bag every week or two and try to use it within a couple of weeks of opening, because the flavor degrades noticeably after that.
With the coffee made, I sit down and spend about fifteen or twenty minutes looking at a few things on the computer. I check email — not to respond to anything yet, just to see if there's anything time-sensitive that came in overnight. There usually isn't. I glance at the weather forecast, because it affects whether I'll take my walk before or after starting work. I look at a couple of news sites briefly, not in depth, just headlines. I've learned to keep this phase short, because it's easy to get pulled into reading articles and suddenly it's seven-thirty and I haven't done anything else. I set an informal mental boundary of about fifteen minutes for this and I mostly stick to it.
After that, I go for a walk. This is a relatively recent addition to the routine — I started doing it regularly about a year ago and it's become one of the parts I value most. The walk is short, usually twenty to thirty minutes, on a loop through the neighborhood. There's nothing scenic about it. Sidewalks, houses, a few trees, a small park with a bench where I sometimes stop for a minute. The point isn't the scenery. It's the movement, the fresh air, the transition from being inside and sedentary to being upright and moving before I settle into the desk for the day.
I've noticed that the walk has a noticeable effect on how I feel for the first few hours of work. On days when I skip it — because of bad weather, usually — I feel slightly foggy and restless at my desk. On days when I walk, I sit down feeling more settled and alert. The effect is consistent enough that I prioritize the walk even when I don't particularly feel like going out.
When I get back from the walk, I make a second cup of coffee and sit down at my desk. Before opening any projects or client files, I spend a few minutes looking at my task list. I keep a simple plain text file with a running list of things to do, organized loosely by priority. I review it each morning, add anything new, cross off anything completed, and identify the one or two things that most need attention. I've tried more elaborate task management systems — dedicated apps, kanban boards — but never stuck with them. The plain text file has survived because it requires no setup, no maintenance, and no specific software.
By about seven-thirty or eight, depending on how long the walk took, I'm starting actual work. The first task is usually something requiring sustained attention — reviewing documents, organizing files for a project, or writing something that needs focus. My concentration is best in the first couple of hours, so I use that time for demanding tasks. Administrative things — emails, scheduling, invoicing — get pushed to the afternoon.
The whole morning sequence, from waking up to starting work, takes about an hour and a half. It probably sounds slow, and it is. There's no rushing in it. I've had periods of my life where mornings were compressed and frantic — alarm, shower, dress, grab something, commute — and I hated it. The current routine is possible because I work from home and set my own schedule, which is a luxury I don't take for granted. Not everyone has the flexibility to spend ninety minutes easing into the day. But for those who do, I'd suggest that the slow approach is worth trying. There's a difference between starting the day and being started by it, and the routine is what maintains that distinction.
I'll probably keep adjusting this over time. Routines should be living things, not fixed rules. But for now, this is what works, and putting it in writing helps me see why.
— Kevin V.