The 5:30 am club.

I came out of the hospital the same day we turned the clocks forward. Ever since, I’ve been waking up at 5:30 am almost every morning.

I used to have this thought: happiness is looking forward to tomorrow. It came to me in my early twenties, on a solo trip to Amsterdam. I was staying in a beautiful Airbnb, and when I arrived, there were fresh light pink peonies (my favorite), on the table. That first night, I could barely sleep. I was too excited about the day ahead. Wandering a new city, sitting in cafés, visiting museums. All the possibilities. That quiet joy, that anticipation: that was happiness.

And somehow, I feel it again now. At a time when things should feel broken, when I could be scared, bitter, or deep in grief (and believe me, I’ve felt all of it), I wake up each morning more grateful, more curious, happier than I’ve been in a long time. Life feels different now. Nothing is given. Everything feels like a gift.

I walk around the apartment in my slippers, wash my face, put on eye patches. I make tea. Light candles. Make Moa’s bed while she still sleeps in ours. Then I sit by the window with a book or my notebook, birdsong outside, the first green leaves on the trees in front of our building.

Maybe it’s the cortisone. Maybe it’s the high that comes after the low. But I’m soaking in it, this soft new light. Everything feels sharper, quieter, more alive. Like I’ve come out of the longest winter into the first real days of spring.

And of course I’d wake up at 5:30 for that.