Happy Friday!
Earlier this summer, I began to engage in a secret ritual. In the wee, dark hours of morning, I would rise from my bed and drive to Malibu, a short 20 minutes before rush hour. There, I would park on the side of the Pacific Coast Highway, pull on a wetsuit, shoulder a surfboard down to the water, and paddle out as the sun rose. Surfers call this dawn patrol.
Let me be clear: I’m a beginner. The question I am most frequently asked out in the water is: “Are you okay?” But something about the solitude of my mission—and probably also the wetsuit, if I’m being honest—made me feel like a f-ing superhero. My mornings crackled with excitement and electricity.
When my boyfriend left town for a week, I ramped my routine, loading the car the night before and edging my alarm closer to 5am each morning. In the grey light of the early morning, I was at the beach, paddling (and sometimes even standing up!) as the waves rolled toward shore. Before the mist completely burned off and traffic started to thicken, I would peel off my wetsuit to drive back home, salty and sandy. An hour later, I was showered and online for work at the same time as always, no one the wiser.
My covert morning routine colored the rest of my day. I couldn’t decide if I felt like Clark Kent, or like I was having an affair. The morning mist from Malibu seemed to hang around my head, and the physical exertion left me no energy for unnecessary stress. I didn’t mind being cooped up at my desk, because I had the memory of the morning secreted away, like a seashell in my pocket.
As special as it has felt to wall off this corner of my life in the age of oversharing, I’m starting to suspect that the magic of the ritual doesn’t necessarily lie in its secrecy, at least not exclusively. And if I share it with you, maybe you’ll find your own dawn patrol too—or appreciate that you’ve already got one.
On disclosure and discovery. Quartz’s Sarah Todd recently discovered that many of our co-workers’ morning routines involve planks—a core-strengthening exercise move that was heretofore unknown to her, as she disclosed in the sweetest short essay one could ever hope to read on the topic:
It’s fashionable in the internet age to complain that no one has any secrets anymore—that thanks to social media, we can hardly stand to brush our teeth without broadcasting that news to 700 peers. But the tale of planking is proof that there is plenty of stuff we’re doing that we’re not talking about at all.
Think of it! Someone you know is probably shoplifting right now. Someone else is eating zoodles. Fighting with their family. Having sex. Listening to a self-help book on tape. Auditioning for a role in community theater, and they don’t want to tell anyone, because what if they don’t get a part? There is still so much that we don’t know about each other—mostly the really interesting stuff. It’s good to know we all have so much left to discuss.
Dawn patrol is not just for surfers. Quartz’s Cassie Werber (who you may remember from last week’s letter) also endorses early mornings for the sorts of exploration and joy we often reserve for the weekend.
After I first read her guide to this practice—which suggests changing one’s commute, having a kitchen dance party, and going for a swim as worthy ways to start one’s day—in 2016, I took the ferry from Brooklyn to Manhattan for work. Amazing! I also sometimes wake up early to bake, which comes with the added bonus of warm cookies for breakfast. (A friend of mine received a 7:15 am booty call on Tuesday, which is also inspiring.)
Pro tip: The first step to getting some morning magic in your life is being awake for it. Get an old-fashioned clock radio (mine came from a yard sale), set it to a station that will wake you with cheerful tunes in the morning, and don’t look at your phone until dawn patrol is done.
A good night’s sleep is also key, Last week, on a paradisiacal road trip to Mexico that involved both camping and surfing, I was mildly ashamed about having packed both an air mattress and a featherbed mattress topper. But in the end, I was not sorry. Behold, the princess pod:
If you too are a high-maintenance camper, you can approximate this rig with a SoundAsleep air mattress, a synthetic “fiberbed,” and this REI tent. This is obviously not for backpacking, and you’ll need access to a power source—or a rechargeable air pump—to inflate your bed. Mine was heavenly.
Speaking of heavens. The princess pod would also be an epic spot from which to gaze upon this weekend’s Perseids Meteor Shower. Quartz science reporter Akshat Rathi saw his first shooting star ever—a memorable sky-blazer that overcame London’s light pollution—during last year’s Perseids. His wife had fallen asleep, so only his quiet shout of joy marked the celestial spectacle. This year, he advises global stargazers that the best views will be tonight, tomorrow, and Sunday, between midnight and dawn. Give your eyes about 45 minutes to adjust to the dark. (No looking at your phone!)
GQ has hit cover-story gold again (never forget) with Taffy Brodesser-Akner’s fevered profile of Robert Pattinson, who is coming back to life after years of playing Twilight‘s vampire heart-throb. Pattinson also perfectly articulates the reason my dawn patrols no longer include coffee: “If I have a little bit too much, I’ll suddenly think the trapdoor in the bottom of my life is falling.”
En fin, us all judge ourselves by the criteria of Saturday’s World Dog Surfing Championships this weekend: “No. 1 is stay on the board,” one judge explained to NPR. “And No. 2 is looking happy.”
Have a great one!
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If I wasn’t in my princess pod or the Pacific last week in Baja, I was drinking a Michelada. A staple in Mexico, the Michelada marries many ingredients you’d find in a Bloody Mary with the carbonated levity of a cold beer. It is at once satisfying and refreshing, and perfect for wiling away August afternoons outdoors. This is a cocktail best mixed-to-taste, but here are the ratios my pal Micki perfected last week.
The Micki-lada: Fill a quarter of a glass or cocktail shaker with Clamato, add a dash of Worcestershire for depth, top the rest with your favorite Mexican beer (We liked Tecate and Modelo), and squeeze in a generous wedge of lime. Maybe add a dash of hot sauce. If you’re feeling fancy—and I hope you are—run another lime wedge around the rim of a glass and dip the rim into a plate of salty, lime-y Tajín chili salt. Fill a glass halfway with ice, and pour in your Michelada mixture. You’ll probably have a bit of extra beer left in the can. Keep it nearby to replenish as necessary.