“He’s a military guy. Of course he wakes up early.”
So said a friend with whom I recently caught up, answering a question on my behalf.
He did so, in part, to defend his own practice of waking up ridiculously early.
He was right, of course. I do wake up early.
Stupid early, by most people’s standards.
But that has little to do with my military affiliation.
I’d be a morning person even if I’d never marched a step or snapped a salute in my life.
My buddy’s comment flowed from a commonly held stereotype.
It was the old Army commercial:
“We do more before nine A.M. than most people do all day.”
I get that.
But it struck me in the same way as the comment people make about what they assume to be my tolerance for cold weather.
“He’s from Michigan. He doesn’t mind the cold.”
Actually, I do.
I fucking hate the cold. And I always have.
But, again, I understand why people think that.
It’s the stereotype.
Sometimes they’re accurate, sometimes not.
The whole wake-up-early-in-the-military thing is somewhat flawed.
If you’re up and functioning at four in the morning, as many military people are, it’s either because you got out of bed before that time, or you never went to bed in the first place.
Like when you’re deployed.
Even in the twenty-first century, there are tactical advantages to operating at night.
Nearly all my flight hours in operational theaters took place between ten at night and six in the morning.
“Vampire hours,” as one friend described them.
Some guys loved working all night and sleeping all day.
Others did not.
Like me.
Not long after my second deployment, a three-star admiral, a former F-14 Tomcat guy, asked me what my favorite mission was in the Persian Gulf.
He assumed I’d say something about sneaking around with the SEALs or chasing patrol boats with Hellfire missiles all night.
But it was neither.
My favorite mission, I told him, was going to the carrier to pick up the mail.
He looked at me funny.
I then explained it was one of the few times you could fly in broad daylight, without a heavy pair of night vision goggles snapped to the front of your helmet, and just cruise around and enjoy the day.
Plus, the air wing wasn’t usually flying, and you could get on and off the aircraft carrier with minimal hassle.
It was pretty ideal.
I thought I was making sense, but the admiral didn’t seem to think so.
“The only real flying is night flying,” he said, dismissively.
And never bothered talking to me again.
Which was fine.
I didn’t particularly care for the admiral.
But his comment did support the idea that, at least in an operational setting, the military is better suited for night owls than early birds.
And I am firmly in the latter camp.
Which was useful when I transitioned from sea to shore duty and traded the cockpit for an office.
Still, it was a little bumpy at first.
I was working for the Naval Academy Commandant, a future four-star general.
While I was turning over with the officer whom I’d eventually succeed as executive assistant, I noticed the boss walked into the office at exactly eight A.M. every morning.
I mean, exactly. Not a minute before or after.
That was by design.
He would later explain the importance of a leader’s being predictable and establishing a steady operating rhythm.
It was one of a thousand lessons he taught that I still carry with me.
I walked into the office the morning of my first, official day on the job, having completed turnover with my predecessor.
Eager to make a good impression and get my tour off to a positive start, I rolled in at seven-thirty to be a step ahead of the Commandant.
I opened my email inbox and discovered it was completely full, with messages having poured in from the boss nearly continually since four o’clock that morning.
I couldn’t possibly get through them all before he arrived.
When I walked into his office for our daily morning meeting, the first thing he asked for was an update on the various things with which he’d tasked me in those emails.
Shit.
I fessed up immediately, explaining that I’d seen them for the first time only thirty minutes prior.
The Commandant smiled and explained in a fatherly tone, “Just because I walk into this office at zero-eight-hundred doesn’t mean my work day starts then.”
That was suddenly obvious.
“My work day starts the minute I wake up and doesn’t end until the moment I shut my eyes at night,” he continued. “And that can be late.”
In other words, this job was going to consume every waking minute of my day.
And that was going to be a very long day.
Which was fine. I’d signed up for exactly that.
I quickly learned to arrange my day to mirror the Commandant’s.
If he was up before four o’clock to work, so would I be.
We got in the habit of exchanging emails real-time for the first ninety minutes of every day.
Then, around five-thirty, the boss would head out for his daily run and pull-ups, and I’d take off for the gym.
I’d roll into the office at seven-forty-five for another quick check of emails and to print out a copy of the calendar in preparation for the eight o’clock meeting.
Having already been at work since four, it usually lasted no more than fifteen minutes.
Then, we were off and running, in and out of a continuous procession of meetings and events stretching to dinner and beyond.
It was exhausting, but I loved it.
And the experience firmly established the zero-four-hundred wake-up, sometimes earlier, as my normal routine.
Even to present day.
The big difference now is that I have no desire to have any interaction whatsoever with anyone during the early morning hours.
It’s my time, far and away the most productive, creative, and enjoyable period of the day.
The silence, the stillness, the newness—not to mention a few cups of the strongest, blackest coffee I can make—all combine to set the conditions in which I do my clearest thinking and best work.
There’s an optimism to the early morning that you don’t get at any other time.
As Colin Powell famously observed, “It ain’t as bad as you think. It will look better in the morning.”
So true.
And the same idea was what established Ronald Reagan’s 1984 “Morning in America” ad campaign as the greatest in political history.
“It’s morning again in America . . . our country is prouder and stronger and better,” said narrator Hal Riney.
No way would “Evening in America” have had the same effect.
Because evening sucks, by comparison.
No one ever says, “It will look better at night.”
Think about it.
So, yes, I’m a military guy.
And, yes, I wake up early.
But one doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with the other.
I’m naturally inclined to morning.
Just as some people are to the evening.
Which is fine.
Hey, do your own thing.
Just don’t do it anywhere near me after eight P.M.
Because I’ll be waking up early.
In the morning.