It's rare to stumble upon another high school student with the same fondness of mornings as mine. It seems as though I'm surrounded by a parliament of night owls (yes, a parliament is really the proper term for a “flock” of owls) with a preference for late nights fueled by caffeine in the forms of strange-tasting, brightly colored chemical mixtures in tall aluminum cans. It is understandable then why the "teenaged night owl" immediately dislikes early mornings and, in turn, sleeps soundly till lunch. But maybe that's why I like mornings...they're honest. No tall cans of Monster Energy Drinks, blasting music, and bright, artificial light. Cell phones and social media sites possess less exigence and authority over attention than they tend to at night, buzzing with meaningless status updates. Instead, mornings are quiet. Simply the thought of a steaming mug of coffee, the morning newspaper and a slice of toast delights me (I currently find myself pining for tomorrow morning already). Mornings possess a sort of optimistic placidity. A peaceful, organized morning nurtures the rest of day.
When I was in fifth grade, my dad drove me to school each morning. We would listen to my favorite Christian music (which at the time my brother accurately labeled "positive pop") and I would sing along loudly. This element of my morning immediately brightened my mood and outlook for the day ahead. Once at school, my dad would drop me off and everyday would repeat the same phrase: "Make it a great day," reminding me that I had made it a great morning, and the outcome of the rest of my day was still in my hands.