The Morning Optimist

Why Nighttime Me Thinks I’m a Hero and Morning Me Knows Better

At night, I am unstoppable.

I set my alarm with the confidence of a Navy SEAL.

I’ll wake up at 6, I tell myself. I’ll stretch, maybe do a few exercises.

I’ll read something thoughtful, journal a little, eat an overnight oat-based breakfast that sets me up to conquer the day.

Nighttime me is a visionary.

A philosopher.

A cross between Marcus Aurelius and a lifestyle influencer.

Morning me, is a tortoise retreating into its shell.

When the alarm goes off, all my lofty plans collapse into a single thought: five more minutes.

And when five more minutes passes, I hit snooze again, as if the snooze button owes me money.

The myth of “future me”

I’m not alone in this.

We all create imaginary versions of ourselves who live in the future. Future Me is calm, disciplined, organized, efficient. He has a tidy desk and probably wears shoes indoors.

Present Me is confused by the kettle.

Psychologists call this the “planning fallacy.” We overestimate what we’ll do tomorrow because we assume we’ll be smarter, braver, and less tired than we are today.

Tomorrow is always bright and shiny. Today is always human.

Nighttime me sets the stage for a miracle.

Morning me cancels the show.

Small betrayals

The funny part is how often I fall for this.

It doesn’t sound like it but, I do know myself. I’ve had decades of evidence that I’m not a dawn-rising, yoga-stretching, oat-eating machine.

And yet, every night, I set the alarm clock with blind faith, like a parent believing their kid will finally clean their room.

This cycle of over-promising and under-delivering feels small, but it chips away at trust in myself. The more I say, “Tomorrow I’ll change everything,” the more I stop believing in myself.

That’s the hidden cost of snoozing. It’s not just lost minutes.

It’s the broken promises.

A gentler approach

So lately I’ve tried something different: smaller asks.

Instead of vowing to wake at 6 and run a 5K, I tell myself: wake up and stretch once.

That’s it.

If I do more, great. But even one stretch means I’ve kept my word.

And keeping my word, even in miniature, feels better than breaking some grand promise.

It reminds me of that line from the Bhagavad Gita:
“You have the right to your action, but not to the fruits of action.”

Maybe my job isn’t to chase the perfect morning. Maybe it’s just to keep showing up for one small action that matters.

Morning me, meet night me

We are both parts of the same person. The dreamer and the realist. The philosopher and the tortoise.

Instead of letting them fight, I’ve started letting them talk.

Night me still sets intentions, but morning me is allowed to be honest: “You know what? Today, coffee counts as mindfulness.”

And weirdly, that honesty gets me further than all the 5am fantasies ever did.

A closing thought

Are you a chronic “morning optimist?” If you are maybe stop promising yourself a brand-new life tomorrow.

Promise yourself something smaller. Something human.

The snooze button will still tempt you. The tortoise will still try to slip back into its shell.

But if you can keep one small promise to yourself in the morning, it might turn into something bigger later.

And if all else fails , oatmeal still tastes as good at lunch.