I am no stranger to early mornings. Back at Vassar College, my classes usually started at 9 or 10:30 a.m. This meant I was walking over to my classes half awake, yawning and probably hungry. Each morning entailed the same kind of rush: rush to get up, rush to pick out some outfit, rush to eat, rush to get to class on time. My mornings were never really peaceful—just routine.
You can only imagine my slight apprehension as I realized my schedule while abroad started off every morning with a class at 8:30 a.m.. I also could not forget to account for the commute to class, which is around half an hour. When I started to “T-minus” the things I needed to do before heading out, I realized I would have to get up early if I wanted to comfortably get to class. And by comfortably, I mean a little early, because everyone here shows up early.
My first early morning reminded me a bit of my routine at Vassar: rushed and tired, with the added aspect of disorientation because I was now in Copenhagen. As I hustled down the sidewalk, I half-peered into cafe windows where locals quietly sipped on their coffees and picked at their colorful plates. Sourdough toast lined the edges, different kinds of cheese slices lay next to each other, whipped butter was nestled next to a dark dollop of elderberry jam, and a bright, jammy egg sat perched in its æggebæger, a ceramic eggcup. Mental note: that looked yummy.
I passed by other spots where people sat in pockets of the morning sun on metal benches, reading peacefully. Others also moved down the sidewalk, except with much more placidness, taking their time to bite into a sweet-smelling tebirkes and gaze out at the canal. I passed these people, too, all while pushing my bangs out from my face in a hurry and trying to not roll my ankle (again) on the cobblestone street.
I made it to class, but I was feeling so drained by the time my commute was over—and it was not even noon! Surely I had to change something. With some trial and error, I adopted the idea of slow mornings, to mimic the patterns I observed on that first rushed morning.
Instead of giving myself just enough time to tick off all of my morning-to-dos, I decided to go to sleep a bit earlier so I could wake up earlier the next day. As with any change, it was hard at first; my fingers pressed snooze once then twice, my movements were slow and groggy, and I felt a bit mad at myself for the schedule change. But at least I was not freaking out over the thought of being late, and I had plenty of time to be slow and groggy and grumpy. I actually gave myself the time to wake up. I made myself a cup of coffee and, inspired by the locals, a breakfast plate with bread, cheese, eggs and jam.
By the end of my breakfast, and by the time I had to leave my kollegium, I felt ready to start the day and my classes. On the way there, I was actually able to observe my surroundings: recurring graffiti stickers, people opening up their boutiques, bikers guiding their children’s bikes on the way to school, all of which I had previously missed in my hurry. I remembered our assigned readings for lecture and ruminated on the topics as I sauntered to class in no rush.
I have noticed that finding time to just be slow and relax is customary in Danish culture. In our long lectures, professors rarely power through and instead give us a break in the middle to stretch or just have some “brain-off” time. On weekends, people flock to the canals to bask on the boardwalks or sit and stare at the water, not doing anything else. People stroll into the churchyards just to pass the time and step away from their responsibilities, their jobs and their tasks. Sometimes all that is needed is time to just exist in the world, not distracted or occupied by anything or anyone. Practicing this slow living, I already feel more at ease and can go about my schedule with more mindfulness.