Monkey Brain vs. Morning Bell

A Dad’s Guide to Not Losing It Before the Walk to School

It starts like this: I sit down, hit play on the app, and a soft bell rings. Every 60 seconds, another one. That’s it. No guru voice. No rainforest sounds. Just the bell.

The goal? Whatever’s on my mind when it rings: I pray about it. I forgive someone. Or I name something I’m grateful for.

That’s the rhythm. Simple enough, right?

Except… I have a human brain. Some mornings it’s full-blown monkey brain, swinging from one thought to another, tossing worries like bananas (or the way more stinky thing they like to throw). Other times it’s fight-or-flight mode, my body bracing for impact when the only “threat” is an email or an unplanned day.

So instead of peace, here’s what usually shows up in the first five minutes:

• A passive-aggressive email reply I should have written three weeks ago.

• A fake argument with a parent on the baseball sideline.

• A vivid memory of my kid licking the car window yesterday. (Why??)

• A gnawing feeling that I’m behind on… everything.

The bell rings again. Still thinking. Again. Still mad. Again. Still defending myself to someone who wasn’t even attacking me.

But then, somewhere in minute 14 or 27, something shifts.

The bell rings… and nothing happens.

No swirl.

No self-justification.

No imaginary debates. Just breath. Just presence. Just… stillness.

For maybe 60 seconds, maybe two bells in a row, I’m not fixing anything. Not blaming anyone. Not trying to conquer the world before 6 a.m. Just here. And it’s glorious.

Starting the day with stillness makes me more resilient for the rest of my day. Resilience that doesn’t crumble under shame, question my worth, or assume the worst in others.

These 60 second resets are also rewiring my brain. Neuroscientists call it neuroplasticity. It's the brain’s ability to change and adapt based on what we repeatedly practice.

Every time I choose stillness over spiraling,

gratitude over grumbling,

I’m strengthening the mental pathways that make it easier to return there the next time.

Because not every email needs to launch me into fight, flight, or fridge mode.

---

The Reflection The bell doesn’t solve my problems. It doesn’t erase the tension in my inbox or make my kids stop fighting over cereal. But it interrupts the flood. It’s the little rope I can pull to stop the train.

Every ring is a quiet reminder: Hey. You’re not God. You don’t have to carry all of this.

Like Paul wrote:

“We take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.” — 2 Corinthians 10:5

This is what that taking “captive every thought” looks like for me. Not spiritual domination. Not an Instagrammable quiet time. Just a tired dad with a racing brain, trying to get 90 seconds of real peace before someone spills milk on their brother’s head.

On the mornings I get two bells in a row without my brain hijacking me? That’s a win. Not because I mastered my mind, but because I let go of needing to.

On the mornings I don’t? That’s okay too. I’m not feeding my perfectionism. I’m practicing letting go of it, 60 seconds of relief at a time. Relief from the worry, the grind, and the inner critic whispering I’m falling short.

Even when my brain tries to convince me otherwise, the bell calls me back.

One calm, quiet minute at a time.