Surprise, It’s Morning Again
News, Spring 2017
BY JILL BRUCKNER
I’ve interviewed a lot of successful women—women with conviction, intelligence, persistence and forethought. Women who’ve offered insight that I’ve shared in magazine and journal articles.
After many years and countless connections, you’d think at least one tactical, successful (and downright remarkable) woman would have suggested a strategy that aligns with my morning chaotic routine. Just. One. Woman. Sigh. But that is not the case.
As a result, I’m examining my practice. Of course, given the high marks I routinely receive for relaying ridiculous antics of all types, I am quite certain by outlining my greet-the-dawn regimen, others will readily delight in the super Be-Jill secrets I’m about to reveal (which, of course, begin with being humble—very, very humble).
Let it be known, I lack both fashion and beauty sense. I offset this by appearing equal parts scattered and quaint, which is endearing (or incredibly lazy). This means my mornings start like this: My iPhone alarm BLARES at 5:45 a.m. (okay, in reality, the digital volume is set at what I would best describe as “two chunks”). So, not loud, but I AM ASLEEP. My alarm is oh-so-rude and, like yours, Successful Woman, my nasty alarm (because it is a cheeky jester) does this every morning.
Unlike your morning, Organized Go-Getter Gal, my morning is always a huge surprise. I burst out of bed astonished it is daytime AGAIN. It’s like the movie Groundhog Day, or S, forever. I’m completely ill-prepared. What, I need clothes? There’s a shower involved? Whose wretched beauty products are these?
Speaking of grooming gear, I collect department store product like property in a mad-dash Monopoly game. Marvin Gardens? I’m buying that. Reading Railroad? Mine. All the green properties? All for me. Everyone lands on those. Totally random Monopoly player, I am. No strategy. As a result, I usually cash out, or quit, because really, Monopoly is for quitters. It should, more accurately, be called “Quitopoly,” a game at which I would most assuredly excel.
At any rate, I have a Monopoly on half used hairspray of all types, lotion so old it probably qualifies as a science experiment, mascara to which I’ve—gasp—added water and My Little Pony lip gloss (in eight shimmery colors) that belongs to my daughter. My bathroom cabinet is also brimming with products that promised to make me look years younger, the combined total of which, if I applied them in unison, should turn back the clock to infancy and allow me to hang out in my crib when that morning bell sounds and makes me cry.
All kidding aside, I like mornings. I just struggle with organization, the type of list-driven life learning that drives the top 2 percent of people to select their outfits the night before and have a plan for pampering themselves with a cool vegetable mask and morning meditation. Personally, if I could lay a couple of Snickers bars over my eyes in the a.m. (to reduce puffiness) I’d probably be good with that.
So, as I round the corner to a milestone I must share (I’m finishing my doctorate this month), I’m hoping to develop some skills that are less erratic and more intentional. Either that, or I’m crossing my fingers for new mascara and Snickers for graduation. W