Why My Day Starts at Dawn and Ends Before Prime Time

Am I More of a Night or Morning Person?

This one’s easy… at least on paper. I’m a morning person. Full stop.
But not for the cute Instagram-worthy reasons people like to post about — the sunrise coffee, the quiet meditation, the gentle journaling while a cat sleeps on the windowsill. No. I’m a morning person because I’ve lived a full lifetime of getting up before the sun whether I wanted to or not.

Back in 1979, when I was a 22-year-old regional sales manager for a toy importer, I worked out of 200 Fifth Avenue in New York City back then The Toy Center — about 120 miles from my home in Media, PA. To make it to the office by 9 AM, I had to be out the door by 5, juggling a mix of car, parking, train and running travel just to get there on time. I’d roll into Penn Station, hit the ground running, and literally sprint through Manhattan to make it to the building. Good thing I was only 22, because that routine would bury me today.

When you’ve spent decades in retail — store opens at 9, but delivery trucks show up at 5, markdown and restocking crews roll in at 3:30 AM — you don’t get the luxury of deciding whether you’re a “night owl” or a “morning lark.” You get up. You show up. You get it done. And somewhere along the line, that wiring sticks. Even now, long retired from the grind of retail floors and district manager miles, my internal alarm clock pops me up before the house even stirs.

And honestly, I like it.There’s something about those early hours that feels like I’ve snuck a bonus round into the day. The world is quiet. Marmie’s still sleeping. The grandkids are in their own houses doing whatever kids do at sunrise (usually not sleeping, judging by birthdays and sleepovers). And it’s just me — making coffee, reading, writing my blogs, watching YouTube podcasts, researching antiques, or asking ChatGPT what’s wrong with my car or how to fix my heater.

Even when I was a district manager for a national U.S. retail chain — when my actual day started at 9 somewhere in the Philadelphia tri-state area far from my home — I usually started at a flea market in a suit and tie with a flashlight, searching for that week’s treasure.

People always talk about being “night people,” but nights never did much for me. By evening I’m cooked. If you want a meaningful conversation out of me at 8 PM, good luck. The lights might be on, but the staff has already left the building. I am dozing by 8:30–9 PM. The only thing that would keep me up is the summer daylight saving time or a trip to the Dairy Queen with one of the grandkids.

My entire life — retail career, picking antiques at the crack of dawn, fishing trips with the grandkids, flea markets that start when the world is still half-asleep — trained me to belong to the mornings. I’m at my sharpest, happiest, and most productive when most people are still trying to find their slippers.

So yes, I’m a morning person. Not the romantic kind. The real kind. The kind shaped by work, responsibility, survival, and now… habit. And truth be told, I like it that way. I get the best of the day before the rest of the world even pulls the covers back.

Besides — by the time everyone else wakes up, I’ve already lived half a day and two cups of coffee.