There’s something about early mornings that I’ve come to appreciate with time. I used to hate them honestly. Waking up before 6 felt like punishment and dragging my body out of bed just to face another long, uncertain day was not something I looked forward to. But over time, I found something in those quiet hours that feels like a small but powerful spark of joy. It’s nothing fancy, not even something big enough to post about on social media. It’s just me, a warm cup of tea, and the sound of birds chirping outside my window.
Every morning, before the chaos of the day kicks in, before my phone starts buzzing or someone knocks on the door or my mind starts racing with all the things I need to do, I sit in silence. I don’t rush it. I don’t try to force a deep thought. I just sit. Sometimes I stare out the window. Other times I close my eyes and just breathe. It might sound ordinary, maybe even boring to someone else, but for me, it’s a moment of peace that recharges me in ways I can’t fully explain.
There’s a small bench just outside the house where the early sun hits perfectly. It’s not always clean. Sometimes the ants are crawling and other times the dust settles from the night, but I sit there anyway. That ten to fifteen minutes of silence, holding a warm cup, listening to the rustle of leaves or the sound of a cock crowing in the distance, reminds me that life is not always about movement. Sometimes, the real beauty is in stillness. And in those minutes, I feel a kind of calm that no amount of scrolling through my phone or loud music can give.
What makes it even more special is that it is not scheduled. It’s not part of some productivity routine or morning ritual that I copied from the internet. It’s just something that happened naturally. One morning I was too tired to think and just sat there with my tea. The silence grew on me and now it’s something I find myself looking forward to. I don’t always get to do it, especially when I’m rushing for school or something important, but whenever I do, I notice a difference.
On days I start with that moment of quiet, I find that I’m less irritated. I don’t snap as much when someone says something annoying. I don’t feel the need to rush through everything. I smile more. I listen better. Even when problems come, I deal with them with a clearer mind. It’s like that little space in the morning reminds me of who I am before the world starts trying to shape me. It gives me room to just exist. Not perform, not impress, not chase anything. Just breathe.
Sometimes, I use those few minutes to say a quiet prayer. Other times, I don’t say anything at all. I just sit and let the world be. And that’s where the joy comes from. From realizing that not every joy needs to be loud. Some joys are soft. Some joys are quiet. Some joys are just being able to start the day in your own way, with your own peace.
I used to think I needed a big event to feel happy or recharged. Like an outing with friends, a vacation, or some kind of gift. But this small moment has taught me that joy can come in cups. In sunlight. In silence. And it’s taught me to look for beauty in the small things. Now I notice when the breeze feels softer. I smile when I see a butterfly land on the flower pot. I take time to breathe deeply when the sky is clear. That one small habit changed the way I move through the day.
It might not seem like a big deal to anyone else, but for me, it’s my little anchor. A small habit that started on a random day and has now become my personal pause button. Life gets overwhelming. Deadlines come and go. People disappoint you. Your body gets tired. But that small moment of joy reminds me that I can always come back to myself. That no matter what happens during the day, I started it with peace. And that peace carries me through everything else.
If I could recommend anything to anyone reading this, it’s to find your own version of this moment. Maybe it’s your first cup of coffee. Maybe it’s a walk in your street. Maybe it’s watering your plant or listening to one quiet song before your day starts. Whatever it is, hold on to it. Let it ground you. Let it remind you that even in the noise of life, there is a pocket of calm waiting just for you. And sometimes, that’s all we really need.