Start Calling Me an Early Riser? Fuck No.

A few weeks ago, I wrote about starting a new morning routine.

And I was determined.

The plan was to start getting up around 4:00 a.m. Maybe eventually 3:45.

Get outside.

Feed.

Clean stalls.

Fill hay nets and water.

Ride.

Come inside.

Shower.

Get the kids moving.

Go to work.

I wasn't trying to become one of those magical 5 a.m. people who drinks lemon water, journals about gratitude and watches the sunrise while their sourdough starter bubbles peacefully on the counter.

I just needed more hours in my damn day.

And early morning was the only place I could find them.

So I started.

And for a while?

I was doing pretty damn good.

Which brings us to this morning.

I failed.

For the first time since I started this whole experiment, I woke up too late to clean every stall and fit in a shower.

So I had to choose.

There were two or three piles of poo still sitting there.

I looked at them.

They looked at me.

And I left them.

Turned the horses out and went inside to shower.

Nobody died.

The horses have not contacted management.

And I'm pretty sure the barn will survive.

But here's what's funny.

If we're grading this whole experiment by the plan I wrote about originally?

I'm failing.

It has probably been a week since I've consistently hit 4:00 a.m.

The riding portion of this beautiful little schedule has mostly gone to shit.

We've had rain.

School started.

Some nights I've slept great.

Some nights I've slept like absolute garbage.

And I've discovered there is a very large difference between getting up early enough to function and getting up early enough to feed, clean stalls, ride a horse, shower, get three kids ready and become a productive member of society before most people have found their coffee.

So riding has hit the back burner.

For now.

But something else happened that I almost missed because I was too busy looking at the part I wasn't accomplishing.

I'm still getting up.

I'm doing chores.

I'm filling hay nets.

I'm filling buckets and troughs.

I'm cleaning and rebedding stalls.

I'm turning horses out.

And most importantly, I'm doing it without being rushed.

We're into week two of school now, and the goal has shifted a little.

Right now, I need to be back in the house by 6:00 a.m.

That's the line.

Because then the kids' morning starts.

Breakfast. Clothes. Hair. Shoes. Backpacks. Somebody can't find something that was definitely sitting on the counter five minutes ago.

You know.

Mornings.

And I've been getting it done.

Maybe not exactly how I pictured it when I wrote that first post.

But I'm getting it done.

And that has me thinking about how quickly we label something a failure just because the reality doesn't look exactly like the plan.

The original goal was 4:00 a.m., chores and riding.

Right now, I'm mostly accomplishing chores.

So did I fail?

Technically, a little.

But compared to where I started?

Hell no.

Because there is this enormous middle ground nobody gives enough credit to.

The space between:

I want to change something.

and

I've completely changed it.

That's where most of us actually live.

We decide we're going to work out five days a week, then manage three.

We decide we're saving $500 a month, then life happens and we save $100.

We decide we're going to completely overhaul our house, our schedule, our eating, our sleep, our finances, our whatever...

And then actual life shows up.

So we decide it didn't work.

But what if it is working?

What if the goal wasn't wrong?

What if we're just still building the muscles to carry it?

Because I couldn't have told you a few weeks ago that getting up before daylight and having the entire barn taken care of before 6:00 would start feeling somewhat normal.

It does now.

Not enjoyable.

Let's not get carried away.

Start calling me an early riser?

Fuck no.

I still proudly claim my Night Owl title.

I would still rather stay up late writing, researching, thinking, screwing around with an idea, or doing basically anything besides peacefully going to bed at a responsible adult hour.

But apparently this particular night owl can now get her ass out of bed before daylight and clean a barn.

That's progress.

And eventually, I'll find 4:00 again.

Maybe even 3:45.

I'll work the riding back in.

School will settle into a rhythm.

I'll figure out what bedtime actually needs to look like.

The weather will cooperate.

Or it won't.

And I'll adjust again.

That's probably the bigger lesson I'm getting out of this whole experiment.

The routine doesn't have to look exactly like the original plan for the original plan to be working.

That first schedule got me out of bed.

It got me experimenting.

It made me figure out what takes too long, what can wait, what actually matters and what I realistically need from my mornings.

The plan wasn't a contract.

It was a starting point.

And maybe we need to give ourselves permission to let our goals become starting points instead of pass-or-fail tests.

Because this morning?

There were a few piles of horse shit left in the stalls.

I didn't ride.

I didn't make 4:00.

By the standards I set in that first post, I failed.

But the horses were fed.

Their water was full.

Their hay was hanging.

They were turned out.

I showered.

I was in the house for my kids.

And tomorrow morning, I'll get up and try again.

So yeah.

I'm still failing at parts of this.

But I'm also getting better at it.

And maybe that's the update I really needed to write.

Not:

"Look! I stuck to my new routine!"

But:

"Look. The routine didn't go according to plan... and I didn't quit."

There's a difference.

And I think that difference matters a hell of a lot more.