Extract from Discipline is Destiny – The Power of Self Control by Ryan Holiday

Attack the Dawn

It was early, always early, when Toni Morrison awoke to write.

In the dark, she would move quietly, making that first cup of

coffee. She’d sit at her desk in her small apartment, and as her

mind cleared and the sun rose and the light filled the room, she

would write. She did this for years, practicing this secular ritual

used not just by writers but by countless busy and driven people

for all time.

“Writers all devise ways to approach that place where they

expect to make the contact,” she’d later reflect, “where they

become the conduit, or where they engage in this mysterious

process. For me, light is the signal in the transition. It’s not being

in the light, it’s being there before it arrives. It enables me, in some

sense.”

But of course, it was as practical as it was spiritual. Because

at the beginning of her career, Morrison was also a single working

mother of two young boys. Her job as an editor for Random

House occupied her days, her children every other minute, and

by the late evening she was burned out, too tired to think. It

was the precious early morning hours between the parting dark

and the rising dawn, before her boys uttered the word Mama,

before the pile of manuscripts from work demanded her attention,

before the commute, before the phone calls, before the

bills beckoned, before the dishes needed to be done, it was then

that she could be a writer.

Early , she was free. Early, she was confident and clearheaded

and full of energy. Early, the obligations of life existed only in

theory and not in fact. All that mattered, all that was there, was

the story—the inspiration and the art.

There she was, starting her first novel in 1965, freshly di-

vorced, thirty-four years old struggling as one of the few

black women in an incredibly white, male industry. Yet in her

mind, this was “the height of life.” She was no longer a child,

and yet for all her responsibilities, everything was quite simple:

Her kids needed her to be an adult. So did her unfinished novel.

Wake up.

Show up.

Be present.

Give it everything you’ve got.

Which she did. Even after The Bluest Eyes was published to

rave reviews in 1970. She followed it with ten more novels, nine

nonfiction works, five children’s books, two plays, and short stories.

And she earned herself a National Book Award, a Nobel

Prize and a Presidential Medal. Yet for all the plaudits, she must

have been most proud of having done it while being a great

mother, a great working mother.

Of course, it’s not exactly fun to wake up early. Even the

people who have reaped a lifetime of benefits from it, still struggle with it.

 You think you’re not a morning person? Nobody is a morning person.*

But at least in the morning, are free. Hemingway would talk

about how he’d get up early because early, there was “no one to

disturb you and it is cool or cold and you come to your work and

warm as you write.” Morrison found she was just more confident

 in the morning, before the day had exacted its toll and the

mind was fresh. Like most of us, she realized she was just “not

very bright or very witty or very inventive after the sun goes

down.” Who can be? After a day of banal conversations,

frustrations, mistakes, and exhaustion.

Not that it’s all about being clever. There’s a reason CEOs hit

the gym early—they still have willpower then. There’s a reason

people read and think in the morning—they know they might

not get time later. There’s a reason coaches get to the facility

before everyone else—they can get a jump on the competition

that way.

Be up and doing.

While you’re fresh. While you can. Grab that hour before

*While we might say that waking up early might not be for absolutely

everyone . . . it is for almost everyone.

daylight. Grab that hour before traffic. Grab it while no one is

looking, while everyone else is still asleep.

In Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations, we hear the most powerful

man in the world trying to convince himself to get out of bed at

dawn when the lower part of himself wants desperately to stay.

“Is this what I was created for?” he asks of his reluctance. “To

huddle under the blankets and stay warm?”

Yes, it is nicer under there. But is that what we were born for?

To feel nice? That’s how you’re going to spend the gift of life, the

gift of this present moment which you will never have again?

“Don’t you see the plants, the birds, the ants, and the spiders and

the bees going about their individual tasks, putting the world in

order, as best they can?” he said to himself but also to us. “And

you’re not willing to do your job as a human being? Why aren’t

you running to do what your nature demands?”

Yet here we are, thousands of years later, still hitting the

snooze button on our alarms. Here we are, wasting the most productive

hours of the day, choosing to reject these moments

before the interruptions, before the distractions, before the rest of

the world gets up and going too. Passing on the opportunity to

gather our flowering potential while it’s freshest, still shining

with morning dew.

“I think Christ has recommended rising early in the morning,

by rising from his grave very early,” observed the theologian

Jonathan Edwards in the 1720s. Is that why quiet mornings

seem so holy? Perhaps it’s that we’re tapping into the traditions

of our ancestors, who also rose early to pray, to farm, to fetch

water from the river or the well, to travel across the desert before

the sun got too hot.

When you have trouble waking up, when you find it hard,

remind yourself of who you come from, remind yourself of the

tradition, remind yourself of what is at stake. Think, as

 Morrison did, of her grandmother, who had more children and an

even harder life. Think of Morrison herself, who certainly did

not have it easy, and still got up early.

Think of how lucky you are. Be glad to be awake (because it’s

better than the alternative, which we’ll all greet one day). Feel

the joy of being able to do what you love.

Cherish the time. But most of all, use it.

About the Author

Ryan Holiday is one of the world’s foremost writers on ancient philosophy and its place in everyday life.
His books, including The Obstacle Is the Way, Ego Is the Enemy, The Daily Stoic, and the #1 New York Times bestseller Stillness Is the Key have sold millions of copies and been translated into over 40 languages. He lives outside Austin, Texas, with his wife and two boys… and cows and donkeys and goats. He founded a bookshop during the pandemic called The Painted Porch, which features a carefully curated selection of Ryan’s favourite books and a stunning fireplace display made from 2000 books.

Disclaimer – Thank you to the publishers for my gifted copy of this book and allowing me to use this extract on my blog.