Circadian Rhythm

 I’ve known since I was a kid that sleep and I don’t really get along. Growing up in a chaotic house meant I was always looking over my shoulder, and that kind of “high alert” wiring doesn’t just go away. I used to wake up waiting for a storm. Now, I wake up waiting for the light. I’ve traded the survival instinct of my childhood for the steady, quiet pulse of a circadian rhythm. It’s why four hours of sleep feels like enough for me now. I don’t nap, I don’t lounge—I’m just up.

A friend introduced me to the idea of circadian rhythm—your body’s natural 24-hour cycle that helps regulate when you feel awake and when you feel tired. It’s guided mostly by light and touches everything: sleep, energy, hormones, mood. It sounds simple on paper. Living it is something else.

I’ve come to think of it as a quiet internal pulse, something tied to the sun. When I’m in sync with it, I feel clear and steady. When I’m not, my mood drops and everything feels heavier than it should.

I wake most mornings around 4 a.m. without an alarm. If I try to cheat and go back to sleep, I pay for it the rest of the day—like jet lag.

In those first minutes of light, I step outside. My first responsibility is the birds. I fill the feeders, freshen the birdbath. That’s how my day begins.

It’s out there, in that early light, that I greet the sun.

After that, I take a little time just to be—sometimes meditating, sometimes chanting, prayers, always breathing. I sit with my tea and my journal, catching my thoughts before the world wakes up.

Then I walk. Four miles most mornings, water in hand. The light and the movement together do something real. It’s like they flip a switch in my brain—okay, we’re awake now.

By the time I get back, I’m ready for coffee. I sit at the kitchen table and map out the day. Nothing complicated, just enough direction so I don’t drift.

From the time I wake up till the time I come home from my walk, I do not turn on my electronics... anything with a screen because the light they emit disrupts the rhythm.

Somewhere along the way, something shifted. Mornings stopped being something I had to push through. They’ve become a quiet space, a way to gather myself before the day begins. It’s not perfect, and it’s not rigid. It’s just a rhythm I’ve finally learned to follow. 

Just life, noticed slowly.