Systems thinking for dads who need routines that actually work.
Why My 5 AM “Miracle Morning” Died After 3 Days
I had it all figured out. Wake up at 4:30 AM, meditate for 20 minutes, journal for 15, exercise for 45, then read for 30 minutes. I’d be a productivity zen master before my kids even opened their eyes. The internet promised me this would change my life.
It lasted exactly two weeks.
The problem wasn’t my commitment—it was my kids. My two boys were reliable 5 AM alarm clocks back then, which meant I needed to be up at 4:30 to beat them. But with four kids total, someone was always up in the night. Bad dreams, bathroom trips, mystery illnesses—you know the drill. I’d drag myself out of bed after three hours of broken sleep, stumble through half my routine, and then feel like a complete failure when I couldn’t check every box.
The final straw came on a Tuesday. Three of my four kids had been up throughout the night, one of them twice. I still dragged myself out of bed at 4:30 to write, then the kid who’d been up twice decided 5 AM was morning time. Oh, and I’d forgotten my wife had to leave early that day, so suddenly I’m making four lunches, getting everyone ready, and doing the school run—all while running on fumes.
I still got the newsletter out and got the kids to school, but I felt like I’d been through a blender. That’s when I realized the problem wasn’t the idea of a morning routine—it was trying to build a ritual instead of a system.
I don’t need a perfect morning. I need a consistent launch.
The Problem with Traditional Morning Routines
Most morning routines are built for single 26-year-olds with zero children and unlimited avocados. They assume silence, time, and total control—all luxuries a dad rarely has.
These routines are linear and fragile. They break down the second your kid wakes up early, or you discover someone forgot to mention the science project due today, or your wife needs help packing lunches. Miss one step of your elaborate ritual and the whole thing collapses.
I’ve seen those Instagram-perfect routines: wake up at 5 AM, meditate for 20 minutes, journal three pages, do yoga, drink hand-ground coffee while watching the sunrise, then tackle your day with the serenity of a zen monk. Beautiful in theory. Completely useless when your 6-year-old is standing next to your bed at 4:45 AM asking why his goldfish looks sleepy.
The truth is, most morning routines are rituals designed for a life you don’t have. What you need is a system designed for the life you do have.
Think Like NASA, Not Like Instagram
This is where I discovered the power of thinking like an engineer instead of a lifestyle blogger. NASA doesn’t “hope for flow”—they execute a checklist to get the rocket launched in all conditions. They don’t scrap the mission because the weather isn’t perfect or someone spilled coffee on the flight plan.
A dad’s morning needs to work the same way. Not a rigid ritual, but a flexible, repeatable system—a Launch Sequence designed to get your day off the ground no matter what chaos awaits.
A Launch Sequence should be simple, adaptable, and anchored to a core goal: presence, clarity, momentum. It’s not about becoming a productivity guru. It’s about becoming a guy who shows up consistently for his family, his work, and himself.
Building Your Personal Launch Sequence
The framework I use comes from Matt Vincent over at YNDY: think in terms of your Floor and your Ceiling. Your Ceiling is your ideal morning routine—what you’d do if you had unlimited time and energy. Your Floor is your bare minimum—what you can do even on the worst days.
My Ceiling would be two hours of writing over coffee, an hour workout, yoga and stretching, a proper breakfast, and a shower before starting my day. That’s never happened and probably won’t until I work completely for myself. Even getting up at 4:30, I need to be at work by 7:30.
My Floor is 30 minutes of writing while doing box breathing, 100 pushups, 100 squats, no shower, no breakfast, and straight to work. If I miss the morning workout, I’ll grab it at lunch or while watching TV with my wife later.
Here’s how I structure my Launch Sequence into three stages:
Pre-Launch (Prep the Night Before)
This is where you make your morning brainless. I lay out my workout clothes so I don’t wake anyone up getting dressed. I set out my computer and have my coffee ready to go. The goal is to eliminate as many decisions as possible.
Action prompt: What can you set up tonight so tomorrow morning requires zero thinking?
Ignition (First 10–15 Minutes After Waking)
These are the key actions that get your body moving and brain online. For me, it’s getting to my computer with coffee and starting to write while doing box breathing—inhale for 4 seconds, hold for 4, exhale for 4, hold for 4, repeat.
The critical rule: don’t look at your phone. Ignition is not scrolling email while you’re barely conscious.
Action prompt: What two physical actions reliably wake up your body and brain?
Ascent (Next 20–40 Minutes)
This is where you build momentum. It should be modular and adjustable—some days it’s 5 minutes, some days it’s 45. For me, it’s usually continuing my writing or switching to a quick workout.
The key is flexibility. If I only have 10 minutes, I do 10 minutes. If I have 45, I do 45. The goal is momentum, not perfection.
Action prompt: What one activity gives you the biggest momentum boost for the rest of your day?
Build in Failsafes and Abort Protocols
Systems thinking means expecting failure and adapting. NASA doesn’t say, “Welp, didn’t journal, guess we’re scrubbing the mission.” They have backup plans for their backup plans.
Design fallback versions of each phase. If there’s no time for a 30-minute workout, do 10 pushups and take a walk with the kid. If you can’t write for an hour, write for 10 minutes. If you can’t do your full breathwork routine, do it while you’re making coffee.
Here’s what my emergency protocols look like:
If I overslept by 30 minutes: Skip the workout, do breathwork while making coffee, write for 15 minutes minimum.
If a kid is sick: Bring laptop to couch, write while they rest, do bodyweight exercises during commercial breaks.
If I got zero sleep: Just get up, drink water, do 20 pushups, take a hot shower. Sometimes survival mode is the mission.
The biggest dad challenge is getting out of bed early, especially when it’s not a habit yet. It’s easy to say, “I didn’t sleep last night and I deserve to sleep longer.” Since the morning routine is something we do for ourselves, it feels like the thing we can let go of when everything else is demanding our attention.
But here’s the mindset shift: something is better than nothing, and you don’t fail if you don’t get your ideal morning. You only fail if you give up entirely.
Action prompt: What’s your 5-minute emergency launch when everything goes sideways?
Refine It Like a Dad Engineer
Launch sequences evolve, and so should yours. What works when you have toddlers won’t work when you have teenagers. What works in summer won’t work in winter. What works during busy season at work won’t work during slow periods.
I revisit my launch sequence every month. I ask myself: What can I eliminate? What can I automate? What can I simplify? What actually matters?
My kids used to wake up at 5 AM consistently. Now they’re usually up by 6, which gives me more flexibility. I switched from regular coffee to decaf because of blood pressure issues. I’ve learned to stack breathwork into my writing time, which makes both easier to stick with.
The system adapts because life changes. That’s the point.
Action prompt: What part of your current morning feels like unnecessary friction?
Build a Launch, Not a Fantasy
Routines are fragile. Sequences are durable.
The difference is mindset. A routine is a perfect plan that breaks the moment reality interferes. A sequence is a flexible system designed to work with reality, not against it.
I’m not building perfection. I’m building consistency. And consistency is what launches men—and families—into purpose.
I may not journal for 20 minutes or do yoga at sunrise. But I do get my ass in gear every morning because my crew is counting on me to launch. Some days it’s a smooth countdown. Some days it’s a controlled explosion. Either way, we get off the ground.
My family doesn’t need me to be a productivity guru. They need me to be present, clear-headed, and ready to lead. A Launch Sequence gets me there.
Ready for Liftoff?
Start with your Floor—what’s the bare minimum you can do even on the worst days? Write it down. Then identify your Ceiling—what’s your ideal if everything goes perfectly? Your Launch Sequence lives between these two extremes, adapting to whatever your morning throws at you.
Pick one element from each stage: something you can prep the night before, something that wakes you up, and something that builds momentum. Start there.
Track it for a week. Then adjust. Add what works, eliminate what doesn’t, and build in failsafes for when life happens.
Remember: you’re not building a ritual for the man you wish you were. You’re building a system for the dad you actually are. And that dad deserves to launch every single day.
The Focused Fool Newsletter. Growing As Men. Leading As Fathers.
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