The Day I Stopped Rushing My Mornings

A rushed morning I remember

Most mornings used to start the same way.

I’d wake up in my bedroom, already tense. Not because something bad had happened — but because my mind had already moved ahead.

While my body was still on the bed, my thoughts were somewhere else: things to finish, things to fix, things that might go wrong.

The room was quiet, but I wasn’t. I remember staring at the window — light already slipping in — and feeling like the day had begun without asking me.

What rushing was costing me

Rushing didn’t look dramatic from the outside. I was still doing everything on time.

But inside, it created anxiety. Not loud anxiety — the subtle kind that makes you feel slightly lost, even when you’re moving fast.

And over time, it stole something important: presence.

I was always ahead of the moment I was living in. Physically present. Mentally absent.

One small change I made

I didn’t redesign my mornings. I didn’t wake up earlier. I didn’t add a routine.

One day, I simply opened the window… and stayed still.

No checking what’s next. No planning the day. No fixing anything.

Just standing there — breathing — letting the light come in.

For the first time in a while, I wasn’t trying to get somewhere. I was just here.

How mornings feel now

Mornings didn’t become magical. They became honest.

I start the day with the idea of FLY — first love yourself. Not in a motivational way. In a practical one.

This moment will pass. This day will pass. Tomorrow hasn’t arrived yet.

So I give the morning the respect of being lived — not rushed through.

A quiet reflection

You might be rushing too — without realizing it. Not because you’re careless, but because it became normal.

Maybe the problem isn’t time. Maybe it’s how early we leave the moment we’re in.

Sometimes, balance doesn’t come from doing more. It comes from stopping — just long enough — to arrive.