It was one of the first maxims I heard, or allowed myself to digest, seeing that it was so easy to follow!
Early to bed and early to rise... seemed to be designed just for me and, therefore, I thought it was preordained and only natural, given that my day began long before the lark and ended while the world still waited for the owls to come out, that I was well on my way to growing outstandingly healthy, wealthy and wise!
In a household where almost everyone else was normal, which meant they were generally punctual but not obsessively so, my constant cry was, "Hurry up, I'm getting late!"
No one bothered to hurry and no one wasted their breath telling me to pipe down; they just ignored me and let me rage and storm and ruin the day for myself (and nobody else, since they'd turned a deaf ear to my cries, anyway)!
How thankful I was when, after what seemed like an eternity of waiting around for siblings through my teen years, I was finally out in the world on my own. Free to leave well in time for appointments, free to wait for hours if need be, but never ever late.
Then, when neither wealth nor wisdom seemed to be coming my way, and I had frittered away countless hours hanging about reception rooms and lobbies, loitering here and there waiting for meetings with people who were too busy to be punctual, I finally began to question the beliefs I'd held on to so tenaciously.
Where had being an early bird ever taken me? To the church on time, to be sure - for a bridegroom who was late and almost never showed up; to the station on time - for yesterday's train; to any number of parties and gatherings where I sat dully in a corner with a frozen smile waiting for the fashionably late who came in sparkling and fresh from a nap, while I had waited and wilted; to the office before the cleaners and janitors and naturally long before the bosses and colleagues, who never noticed the signing in time but did wonder how I signed out not very long after they came in!
Head of the queue
How many times have I been at the head of the queue for a bus that then arrives empty and doesn't need an orderly line of passengers since everyone pushes and shoves anyway! How many hours have been spent waiting at airports and stations, at banks and theatres?
True, long ago, I had learnt never to leave the house without a book, and thanks to that, I read my way through bestseller lists, lending library shelves and most of the second-hand bookstores in town.
When books weren't available, a pencil and notepad were ever handy and many adventures were conceived as I stared glassily into space at blank walls or pillars and saw wooded hillsides, spooky bungalows, underground tunnels, and oh, what treasure - just a little further on, through the secret door!
And what about the hours of self-counselling I conducted as I re-hashed in my mind all the bricks I'd dropped, the unnecessary barbs hurled back and forth in my daily life?
As I waited, I forgave myself for the blunders, glossed over other people's unkind cuts and managed to reach a happy state of acceptance of myself and the rest of the world.
Maybe that is the true prize for the early bird. The time to think, the time to gain a different perspective, even if it is one clothed in sheer imagination and ready to take wing. For that alone, I think I would be content to be an early bird way into the future!
Cheryl Rao is a journalist based in India.
