I’ve always loved getting up early, when the world seems to hold endless possibilities and before responsibilities tug at me. One of my daughters does, too. And a dear friend of mine does as well. I enjoy writing; my daughter likes to sip her coffee on the deck and study the constellations; my friend prefers to visit a coffee shop, watch the river, and surround herself with the quiet buzz of others. We’re all part of the 5:00 a.m. club.

Here at our northern Wisconsin cabin, I keep my ritual and start the coffee. As the pot sputters and the smell of Folgers drifts through the room, I curl up with my computer. This time, before the world awakens, has always been precious to me. Since I sometimes get my best ideas around 3:00 a.m., I’m eager to get them down before the day rushes in and I forget. When I was still teaching, I arose at 5:00 so I could have an hour to write. Rising early is a habit that has served me well over the years. I’m happy that my daughter is an early riser, too.

I stroll to the lake’s shore, take a picture of a vivid planet in the night sky, and text it to her. She loves to brew her coffee, take it out on the deck, and gaze at the stars. Lately, she’s been learning the constellations. She recommended a “Night Sky” app so I could do the same. Though we’re miles apart, I feel connected to her as I imagine her using this quiet time to greet the day, reflect, and prepare for what lies ahead.

My friend enjoys using first light to drive a short distance to the Bella Goose coffee shop on the river. She sips a flat white (double espresso and steamed milk), wrapping herself in the view and the vibrant hum around her. The distant buzz of people talking in the background is her morning meditation, giving her the calm energy she needs for the day ahead. She might write or simply linger in the moment.

We members of the 5:00 a.m. club have our own secrets. At the cabin, I watch members of this club kayak by, the hint of dawn keeping their silhouettes a mystery. Who are they? What do they love about this time of day? I don’t dare interrupt them. I know they value this quiet time.

The early morning hours are precious to people like us because we can claim a sliver of time for ourselves—a moment to nurture who we are before confronting the demands of the day.

I decide to step outside. I try to rouse my dog to join me, but she’s not a “morning dog,” so I let her sleep. 

I have great respect for night owls and their own private club, although they baffle me. Several of my writer friends do their best work around midnight, which astounds me. The hour itself isn’t what matters, I muse, as I step into the cool air and watch the glow of what’s going to be a brilliant sunrise. Nor is what you choose to do. Whether it’s taking in the pre-dawn sky, drawing energy from the buzz of a coffee shop and the flowing river, paddling into dawn, or creating before the day begins, what matters is carving out time for ourselves—to pause, to breathe, and to celebrate life and all its possibilities.