When I was growing up, I would set an alarm to wake for school. However, this did about as much as sleeping with the blinds open and expecting the sun to wake me. I was, therefore, forced to rely on my human snooze button-- my mother. She would shout from downstairs in roughly five-minute intervals, “Katharine, are you up?” And I, being a model adolescent, would lie through my sleepy teeth, “Uh huh.”  Convincing. “Let me hear your feet on the ground!” she’d say.  That’s when I would bang on the headboard a few times, and go back to sleep.  

These days, with my mother in Massachusetts and me in New York, I no longer have someone willing to endure this ritual.  Therefore, I’ve had to teach my subconscious to sort through sounds and make sure ‘Morning Phone Ring’ winds up in the ‘Requires Conscious Response’ category right next to ‘Fire Alarm’ and ‘Really Good Smells.”  So now, my morning routine goes a little something like this:

Ring one. 6:57am: “What’s that?” (the alarm is set for 6:55.. I hear it two minutes in)  Hits snooze.
Ring two. 7:00am: No brain activity.  Hits snooze.
Ring three. 7:05am: Nope.  Hits snooze.
Ring four. 7:10am: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Hits snooze. Cries.
Ring five. 7:15am: Fine. I’m getting up. Shuts off alarm.
No Ring. 7:18am:  Wakes from falling back asleep one second after shutting off alarm.  Surrenders.  

Some might take us Snoozers as lazy folk, but really, I think the snooze button brilliantly showcases our sharpened survival instincts.  My brain is like, “Yes, you could get up and things might be just fine.  But I know for a fact that you’ve been here in this bed, asleep all night, and survived.  Out there, who knows??”  And there goes my primal intuition choosing five more minutes of sleep over possible death again.  

It’s not a huge problem because I do eventually get up without causing too much harm (except maybe to my neighbors, who judging by the fact I can hear them blow their noses, can most definitely hear my snooze rings).  This habit only becomes a problem when it permeates other areas of life, for example, leaving a job or any type of situation that fades your every color.      

It is easy to get comfortable.  And from there, it’s easy to get stuck, thinking that out there, there might be a monster even bigger than the one currently sitting on the edge of your bed...  

So I'll just stay here.  Just in case.  Even though this monster really is quite large.  But no, it’s fine.  No. It’s not.  Okay, I’ll check back in next month.  If it’s still not fine then, I’ll go.  Actually, maybe after my trip this summer.  Or when Mars and Jupiter align. In a Leap Year.  On a Tuesday. Etc. Etc. Etc.

I believe there is always a better thing.  I also believe there is always a worse thing.  So when you find yourself stuck in a seat you despise, GET UP!!  As soon as possible. Before all the signs say to. And before the timing is perfect (it will never be perfect). And then, keep getting up until you are living a life where all seven days of the week have the potential to be beautiful.  

That means tuning out the worry-wart brain. I appreciate that it just wants to keep me alive, but really, there are so many things I'm already doing that contest my protective instincts... staying up past sundown… getting an adrenalin rush and neither fighting nor flighting… eating hot dogs... I've run so far from my human intuition, I am practically a seagull. So what's one more item on the risky business list?

It's time to get up.  

Can you hear my feet on the ground? 

They're dancing.

Love Love Love,

*Pic from

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