The time is 6am on a dark, fog filled Sunday morning. My dog Buster is curled up between my legs, the only sound emanating from this room is from an overhead fan spinning. I’m deathly quiet. These early morning hours are one of the few times during the day when the world actually feels still, as though it’s not spinning at 1000mph, or zipping around the sun at an astonishingly 67,000mph. There are no horns, no police sirens, no distractions to take away from this perfect moment. At 6am it’s just me, except for the rogue sound of a distance wave crashing.