Fixed and immutable

There's no way to start at work later than 8am. My commute is ~20 minutes (+/- 5 depending on season). After work, 5pm or later, I do not have energy.

At my previous job I started much earlier and could sometimes be home by 4:30. I did chores after work.

My start time here was set automatically to 8:30 and I've left it there. This gives me plenty of time to do 6:30-7:30am yoga before work, or to do chores. It gives me enough time to do both, though it's a little tight.

This schedule feels good. It feels nice to be outside when I have my energy, to be checking in with my land before I go in to work, to anchor my day in the tasks I find meaningful. It feels good to come home and be able to choose whether to do more or to just relax.

My circadian rhythms like it when I do my manual labour or exercise in the morning. They also like sun in the morning, and though there's not much of that right now in a couple of months there will be. My body is happy, humming along in cycles constantly corrected by those mornings spent outside.

In the city everyone complained about waking up as late as 9pm. They'd stay up till 3am. All the people I knew who were even vaguely willing to meet up with me in the morning when my head is clear and I feel light and happy: those people have moved out of the city. I pretty much couldn't attend parties and things because I wanted to be in bed by 9 or 9:30 and I always wake up around 5 or 6am. None of them, of course, were willing to set an alarm extra early every second visit if I was willing to stay up late every second visit, to trade sleep dep cycles. Nonetheless they did all complain constantly about how they were discriminated against.

It's good to be out here. It's good to have friends who meet for morning coffee (although admittedly doing chores and getting out there by 6am feels early to me). It's good to stay over with people who, by 10 or 11, will say they're done and we go to bed. It's good to eat breakfast with Tucker. It's good to see the sunrise.

Many other things aside, this cycle suits me nicely.

Fixed and immutable

There's no way to start at work later than 8am. My commute is ~20 minutes (+/- 5 depending on season). After work, 5pm or later, I do not have energy.

At my previous job I started much earlier and could sometimes be home by 4:30. I did chores after work.

My start time here was set automatically to 8:30 and I've left it there. This gives me plenty of time to do 6:30-7:30am yoga before work, or to do chores. It gives me enough time to do both, though it's a little tight.

This schedule feels good. It feels nice to be outside when I have my energy, to be checking in with my land before I go in to work, to anchor my day in the tasks I find meaningful. It feels good to come home and be able to choose whether to do more or to just relax.

My circadian rhythms like it when I do my manual labour or exercise in the morning. They also like sun in the morning, and though there's not much of that right now in a couple of months there will be. My body is happy, humming along in cycles constantly corrected by those mornings spent outside.

In the city everyone complained about waking up as late as 9pm. They'd stay up till 3am. All the people I knew who were even vaguely willing to meet up with me in the morning when my head is clear and I feel light and happy: those people have moved out of the city. I pretty much couldn't attend parties and things because I wanted to be in bed by 9 or 9:30 and I always wake up around 5 or 6am. None of them, of course, were willing to set an alarm extra early every second visit if I was willing to stay up late every second visit, to trade sleep dep cycles. Nonetheless they did all complain constantly about how they were discriminated against.

It's good to be out here. It's good to have friends who meet for morning coffee (although admittedly doing chores and getting out there by 6am feels early to me). It's good to stay over with people who, by 10 or 11, will say they're done and we go to bed. It's good to eat breakfast with Tucker. It's good to see the sunrise.

Many other things aside, this cycle suits me nicely.

Solstice fire

This morning I didn't feed the fire. Once a month I let it die down and stick my phone up there and take a picture of the chimney; about once every two months I clean the chimney; seems like every 2 chimney cleans I take out the ashes. Tonight I'm going for dinner with old coworkers and then staying at a friend's, my old boss'; tomorrow I clean the chimney, take out the ashes, and lay the fire that will take me into the upswing of sunlight and also into the new calendar year.

The tradition of staying awake to keep the solstice fire burning is much easier when there's a wood stove with a catalytic burner and a good damper. It becomes, instead of a once-night event, a daily practice throughout the winter with immediate and visceral consequences when it's failed: the cold comes in. My electric heat comes on and I am charged money. I need to split kindling and go through the ritual of fire-starting.

Still, I want to go through the ritual of having a relatively clean stove on solstice night. I want to know that fire can run until there's light on both sides of my workday and the light feels well and truly back. And I may shut down the breakers or at least turn out the lights on solstice; bottle booze with Tucker; light candles and listen to or make music and maybe read to each other or consult the cards or talk or pet kittens or look out the window or who really knows? There's plenty of time for all that, it's a long long night. The moon will be waning and the stars will be such a presence that they sweep away any sense of the earth as solid or meaningful.

So: clean the fire, clean the floors, pull out the snowblower. Tomorrow is solstice prep.

Solstice fire

This morning I didn't feed the fire. Once a month I let it die down and stick my phone up there and take a picture of the chimney; about once every two months I clean the chimney; seems like every 2 chimney cleans I take out the ashes. Tonight I'm going for dinner with old coworkers and then staying at a friend's, my old boss'; tomorrow I clean the chimney, take out the ashes, and lay the fire that will take me into the upswing of sunlight and also into the new calendar year.

The tradition of staying awake to keep the solstice fire burning is much easier when there's a wood stove with a catalytic burner and a good damper. It becomes, instead of a once-night event, a daily practice throughout the winter with immediate and visceral consequences when it's failed: the cold comes in. My electric heat comes on and I am charged money. I need to split kindling and go through the ritual of fire-starting.

Still, I want to go through the ritual of having a relatively clean stove on solstice night. I want to know that fire can run until there's light on both sides of my workday and the light feels well and truly back. And I may shut down the breakers or at least turn out the lights on solstice; bottle booze with Tucker; light candles and listen to or make music and maybe read to each other or consult the cards or talk or pet kittens or look out the window or who really knows? There's plenty of time for all that, it's a long long night. The moon will be waning and the stars will be such a presence that they sweep away any sense of the earth as solid or meaningful.

So: clean the fire, clean the floors, pull out the snowblower. Tomorrow is solstice prep.