Morning Routines: Boeing vs. Helicopter

I had to leave the house by 8:15 this morning because G had an appointment to discuss the results of the MRI of her shoulder, and I wanted to be there.

She’s not a reliable narrator.

She “Kath-proofs” stuff so that I won’t worry.

I then have to worry about what she might have left out.

So it was just better that I go this morning and hear for myself.

But we had to leave by 8:15 AM.

Which meant I had to break the first Rule of Kath, which is:

1. NO HUMANS BEFORE 11 AM.

But I did, and it was fine.

And by “fine” I mean painful.

Not because anything bad happened. In fact, the news at the doctor’s office wasn’t as dire as either of us expected. She needs rotator cuff surgery, but it can wait until May. 

No, the reason it was miserable is that I am a Boeing 747-8, and she is a helicopter. Our morning routines are very different. I am a demanding commercial passenger aircraft needing 10,200 feet of runway to take off in the morning, while all she needs is a little Helipad, and she’s up and off. 

I need time to sit on the couch, drink coffee, read my book, pen morning pages, and meditate.

I need to wear pajamas for a while. I need to keep my Connections, Wordle, and Spelling Bee streaks alive.

I need an elaborate toilette involving a dizzying array of lotions, potions, cleansers, and toners.

I need to take care of the dogs. I “walk” them, which mostly involves stopping every few yards while they sniff, pee, and poop, and I age.

Only after all this do my wheels finally lift up, and I am airborne into my day. And I need every foot of that 10,200-foot runway to feel happy, at peace, and resourced.

 G, on the other hand, drinks her coffee, takes a shower, gives her helicopter blades a spin, and goes wop-wop off into her day.

There’s a bias in our culture that favors the helicopter people. But even though I am slow to roll, we are both Larks. I get up early, and so does she. It’s just that I don’t do “the public” before noon-ish, whereas she is up and chirping with them at the crack of dawn.

The difference is our runway needs. I need a lot. She needs hardly any.

In the morning, I look like a slug lolling about in my pajamas. She looks like an eager beaver off to do important work in the world

Her work involves performing outward-facing physical actions in the world: teaching softball skills, attending meetings, serving on committees, and advancing university projects.

My work requires contemplation and interiority: reading, writing, meditating, thinking, practicing yoga. My work is what yogi’s call Svadhyaya, a holistic, spiritual, and self-transforming discipline with a focus on connecting the individual self to a greater reality.

To say that we have very different-looking morning routines is an understatement! 

But even though we appear to be so different in our work, and we are, there is still plenty of overlap in our Venn Diagrams. We balance each other.

 When the world becomes too much for her, I am there with soup and bread and a clear heart-pad for her to land on where her burdens can be dropped and heard.

When I am floating, lost in my head, disconnected from social reality, community, and fun, she grabs my hand and leads me back to people and parties and dinners out and vacations and unplanned escapades just for the hell of it. 

 What I’m trying to say here is: Don’t compare Boeings to helicopters. 

Just because a helicopter can take off faster, it can’t go as far as a Boeing. But in the world, helicopters and Boeings both need to exist. 

And if you ever catch me still in my pajamas at 10 in the morning, know that pajamas are my work clothes.

And by the same token, if you ever see me out and about in a cute outfit at 8:15 in the morning, you can be sure that nothing has gotten done that day, and I am being a complete sloth.