I'll share with you a memory, because it is a good memory, and an interesting way of starting a new day...
Cold, wet, shivering, hungry, penniless and alone. I was probably sixteen.
I woke up, in a shallow ditch, beside a railway line, somewhere in Somerset, UK, in the early morning greyness.
And the first thing I was aware of, was surprise. That I had woken up, at all.
How long can you be this poor, and this hungry, and this thin, and this cold, before you don't wake up ever again?
Hence the surprise, and the pleasant feeling of getting to live through another, unexpected day.
That is a good way to wake up, and although I haven't done it for many years, I cherish the memory of having done so.
I try, always, to apply that sense of surprise, to each new day, because now I know, for a fact, that those new days are numbered. And that fewer and fewer of them remain, to be surprised by.