I reclined into darkness, lit only by the flickering of the screen. A movie began. But I wasn’t sitting in a theater. I was in my living room at 5 o’clock in the morning, long before anyone I knew was out of bed. Instead of plunging into a fistful of buttery popcorn, I sipped a piping-hot cup of coffee.
As the sun slowly began to rise outside, the classic Paramount logo appeared on-screen, followed by music and the image of Audrey Hepburn as Holly Golightly exiting a taxi and stepping onto the empty streets of Manhattan. With a croissant and coffee in hand, she browsed the Tiffany & Co. windows ahead of the rest of the city.
Like Golightly, I too basked in a special early morning moment. Instead of outside a fancy jewelry store, mine happened inside make-believe worlds. Soon, the sun would fully shine, offering me new day, one that started with a dopamine boost courtesy of Breakfast at Tiffany’s hours before anyone or anything else could interrupt me.
“I am a very stylish girl,” I later chanted to myself like an encouraging mantra. It was a famous quote from the film spoken not by Hepburn but by her nemesis, Mrs. Emily Eustace “2E” Failenson, portrayed by Patricia Neal.
The best filmgoing experiences are usually synonymous with nighttime. I discovered that an early morning movie was an unexpectedly magical place. It’s a quiet, intimate reprieve from the stressful world. I accidentally stumbled on the power of this self-soothing ritual. The catalyst was the pandemic, which ended the movie theater experience for everyone. Though we eventually returned, I wasn’t the same.
I formerly thrived in the packed crowds at theaters, hearing the mix of communal sounds around me as everyone responded to what was happening on the big screen. After the lockdowns ended, I strayed from it, opting for less-populated moviegoing during midday matinees. At first, I desired it solely for peace.
The epiphany that seeing a movie long before the sun set could be more meaningful came last year after I went to see Scream alone. My husband was working, but I couldn’t wait for him to finish. My impatience and love of horror motivated me to go to the theater the morning it opened. When I emerged and reentered the daylight, I was oddly reinvigorated. As I walked home, I felt lighter and happier.
Films eliciting such emotions in me weren’t completely new. Often, after seeing a new movie together, my husband and I strolled home, engaging in long discussions about what we’d seen, typically followed by an online search for more insights. I’d done the same as a child with my mom — minus a post-film Reddit dive.
When I walked home that day, I realized how good it felt not only simply seeing a movie by myself but also before the day truly commenced. It’s not as if I hadn’t watched thousands of movies alone. It just wasn’t usually so early. After that experience, arising early to watch a movie alone became a cherished routine — a new form of self-care.
For me, waking up extra early to watch one of my favorite movies is a mental workout. No matter the genre —from thrillers like Basic Instinct to comedies like Weekend at Bernie’s — these screenings unapologetically provide me with an endorphin release. Apparently, I’m not alone. A recent study published in the American Physiological Society found participants who simply thought about watching their favorite movie raised endorphin levels by 27 percent.
I was always a night owl, and I married one too. Once I got a taste of the natural high of being an early-rising film buff, I became addicted. I’d fall asleep wondering what movie I’d pick next from my arsenal. My 5 a.m. showtime was a cathartic act that reminded me to slow down and be more present each day. It became as prescribed as taking a pill, a small, guilt-free dose of inspiration and escapism.
It was something I desperately needed while enduring layered fertility grief in recent years. Repeated losses and IVF failures have, at times, created an isolation that felt like a void. Ironically, sitting in the darkness for about two hours with a comforting movie could provide me with the opposite. In those moments, I felt less lonely and, strangely, more loved.
In the infertility world, there are endless conversations about various ways of coping through self-care and wellness routines. Suffering through this chapter of my life has brought me to a new place, one where authenticity is often trumped by insincere practices like forced half-hour-long affirmations. Frankly, I’d rather melt into my couch and recite movie quotes.
Martin Scorsese recently revealed that he always watches Turner Classic Movies when he works because the background images and noises bring him comfort and creativity. His revelation resonated with me. My own morning proclivities made more sense. It’s created excitement in an otherwise stressful time, releasing a quiet fuel that energizes and keeps me going.
The other day, I set my alarm a little earlier than usual to watch Vertigo in celebration of the classic Alfred Hitchcock film’s 65th anniversary. I spent the morning with Jimmy Stewart as he stalked Kim Novak through the Technicolored streets of San Francisco. Like everyone inside those faceless windows, I knew I’d have to embark into reality after the closing credits. I’m not certain how long I’ll keep up my new routine. For now, my own personal movie theater remains open each morning.
Blake Turck is a New York-based writer who has contributed to The Washington Post, The Huffington Post, NBC, Insider, Well+Good, and StyleCaster.
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