a morning routine | Columbia chronicles

One of the posts I’ve been looking forward to writing as a Columbia student is a morning routine. I love morning routines! Even though (if I’m honest) my morning routine hasn’t changed a ton since I was in undergrad at UVA, I am still writing this for memory’s sake. 

Tuesday, September 5, 2023

Every morning the hour I awake changes. I haven’t really touched an alarm for a hot second. I’m at an age where I am prone to believe what my body tells me. I want to honor the rest my body believes I need. 

That usually means 6ish or 7ish. 

I wake up and without registering it, slip on my slippers, quickly swipe my toothbrush and face wash from my dresser. My black dresser is wide and I keep way too many bottles on it. It’s a conglomerate of cosmetics and hair products and medicine. I could probably keep my toothbrush in the downstairs bathroom, but maybe some part of me will always feel like NYC isn’t the place for me long term. So I live like I could move out. Because, who knows, maybe one day, I will.

I stumble downstairs in the darkness. I always greet my dad in the morning. He’s usually awake, lying in the darkness. Then I head to the bathroom where the soft morning light and the water splashed across my face actually awakens.

Breakfast is not the first thing on my mind in the morning, but it’s the one that gets addressed right after I brush my teeth and wash my face. (I believe in the nightly shower.) 

This day’s breakfast included apples and almond butter. Which is such a divine snack.

Depending on the day of the week, I either can do a long quiet time or something quick. I try most days to do something. Anything but nothing. Nothing is a slow slide in apathy and spiritual decline. 

In the summer, I make cold brew tea. This one was Irish Breakfast Tea. I added my homemade vanilla syrup.

I’ve gotten in the bad habit of adding music to my mornings. This would be fine if my days had pockets of quiet. But most days are full of classes or running around the Bronx without moments of margin. But I can’t resist Jeremy Camp’s When You Speak album. I remember obsessively listening to it my last year in college.

The rest of my breakfast is Greek yogurt with granola. (There is usually some form of fruit as well.)

So Psalm 125.

Imagine being like a mountain, immovable, unshaken, strong and firm. That’s those who trust in the Lord. The Lord who surrounds us with his presence. The wicked won’t win. And it ends with a blessing for Israel.

While listening to worship music, I put on my outfit which I chose the night before. I no longer have the luxury of picking out my outfit in the morning. Every moment needs to be saved for my commute. Even packing my lunch was a last night decision.

I head out the door by 8:19 for my 10am class. It takes about an hour to get to school.

This particular morning I am reading Here if You Need Me, a memoir by Kate Braestrup, on my commute. The book is good, if littered with words that clutter up her story. Less 10 dollar words are needed because her story speaks for herself. But the real reason I’m ticked off is that the person who marked up this copy was so angry. I honestly need a new copy to continue reading it.

An amendment to this morning routine:

On walking with my friend Kate to the book culture store nearby, we were laughing at a joke I made. Something about her reporting professor coming back from vacation. As I turned in my laughing, as Kate was on my right, I turned to the balcony that is Lerner Hall and literally had a moment of recongition. And the human staring back at me too had a moment of recognition. And it was this dude I knew from middle school who apparently works there. Anyway, I was shook and he said he had seen me before but didn’t mention it before this moment and I honestly did not know what to do. Still shooketh. But I thought it was a surprising and interesting story to share with you, gentle reader.

Will update you as it develops.

Signing off,

Gigi