This story originally appeared on the Gents Cafe Newsletter. You can subscribe here.
“In the wee small hours of the morning. While the whole wide world is fast asleep. You lie awake and think about the girl. And never, ever think of counting sheep.” This is how Frank Sinatra sang about the quiet, lonely moments of the night before the world outside awakens again. That was in 1955, and Frankie Boy was said to be struggling to come to terms with his break-up with Hollywood star Ava Gardner.
The melancholy of this song is my personal soundtrack to the “blue hour”—technically, the 30 minutes or so before sunrise, when the sky appears in intense shades of blue and the light is soft and diffuse, creating a magical contrast to the yellow-orange light on the horizon and artificial lights.
It’s a time I enjoy very much. In my case, the melancholy is not heavy, but rather gentle. It is a ritual of mine to make the most of this phase of the morning when the sky is clear. It is my time–my me-time in blue.
The blue hour slowly bids farewell to the night and gently welcomes the day, flattering the still tired senses. For me, it is a temporal oasis where I recharge my batteries; it creates structure in my head and develops a sense of anticipation for the approaching day. Some people do yoga, others go for a run; I prefer to take it slow and bathe in blue with a cup of coffee in my hand.
For me, it’s a time to pause. Thoughts and feelings come together without rushing. The break doesn’t last long, and that’s why it is so precious. A deep breath of fresh air, a glance towards the rising sun. “Hello, world, here I am. Please give me a moment.” The coffee smells tempting. The phone can wait. At this moment, I don’t have to meet any expectations. I simply enjoy being in a wonderful silence. Nothing has to be loud right now.
And then there is the blue. On clear days, it is so intense that you feel you can gaze into infinity. Add to that the pale orange of the rising sun, the dark silhouettes of the houses and trees: you feel like you are in a cinema, watching an old monumental film in Cinemascope. Air, colours, coffee, the day is kissed awake wonderfully.
At some point, the blue hour gives way to the day, Sinatra’s song fades away. What remains is an inner peace that carries me through the day. And so, to quote Frankie Boy once again, I do it My Way.
