Some mornings, I stumble out of bed before four. Tracing a fading dream where I tried to capture something. A flicker. A rustle. The soul of a tree. No matter if I watch the waking world through my lens or keep my eyes closed on my yoga mat, I am rebuilding my habit of easing myself into each new day.
This summer is intense. I am working as a volunteer at a retreat centre in the middle of the forest, a place that has been magical to me since I attended a camp here for the first time a few summers ago. I am doing different things every day. Painting, cleaning, washing dishes, running a café, feeding a horse, documenting events. Learning to stay grounded in the rush-hour kitchen at an acro yoga festival with two hundred participants. Learning to let go of my plans.
After more than three years of working as a freelance translator, it is such a relief to replace so many of my screen hours with physical work. In my free time, I find myself drifting into the forest rather than scrolling myself into lethargy. Hugging a tree. Dancing barefoot. Resting on a mossy block of stone.
My mornings are my key to bringing the magic of this place behind the scenes. Holding on to it despite being part of the chaos that comes with running an organization of this size. So I make my mornings sacred. Spacious. I give myself the time I need to listen. To create. To remember what a gift it is to be alive. Right here. Right now.