Ryan Nichols
Reflection

The Five Minute Flag

The flag goes up before the phone comes on. Why a five minute morning ritual steadies a man, plus five two minute anchors you can start tomorrow.

By Ryan Nichols

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The flag goes up before the phone comes on.

That is the whole rule.

It takes about five minutes. Unclip. Unfold. Hook the grommets. Raise it. Step back and look at it for a second.

Nobody is watching. No one drives by and salutes. The dog does not care. Most mornings out here it is just me, a piece of cloth, and whatever the day is about to be.

I do it anyway.

A ritual is a decision you already made

I was in the Marine Corps from October 2010 to October 2014. Almost nothing about my day belonged to me. Formation happened whether I felt like it. Gear got checked whether I felt like it. Comm gear does not care about your mood. It works or it does not.

I thought I hated it.

Looking back, it was carrying me.

There is a mercy in a thing you do not have to decide.

Most of the weight of a hard morning is not the hard part. It is the deciding. Do I get up. Do I check the phone first. Do I let a stranger set my heart rate before my feet are even warm.

A ritual answers all of that before you ever get there.

Read that again. The ritual is not the point. The not deciding is the point.

What the five minutes actually does

Three things, every single time.

It puts my body in motion before my mind gets a vote. Standing, walking, hands doing something on purpose.

It gives me one finished thing. Before six in the morning, something is done and done right. Some days that is the only clean win I get all day, and I already have it in my pocket.

It reminds me I am part of something older than my problems. I did not invent that flag. I did not build this country or this ground or this family. I am just the man raising it today.

Five two minute anchors. Pick one.

You do not need my flag. You need something that is yours, costs almost nothing, and happens before the world gets a vote.

Here are five. Pick one. Not five. One. Five is a program, and you will quit a program by Thursday.

1. The threshold. Step outside and stand there for two minutes before you touch a screen. Feet on the porch, door shut behind you. Look at one thing that is not man made. A tree line. The sky. Then come back in.

2. The one page. Read one page. Bible, book, whatever is on the table. One page, not one chapter. A chapter is a chore. A page is a habit.

3. The made bed. Old advice and it still works. Make it all the way, corners and pillows, like somebody is coming to check it. Two minutes. First thing finished.

4. The three names. Say out loud the names of the people you are responsible for today. That is it. No speech. Just the names. It is very hard to feel pointless right after you say the names.

5. The one line prayer. Not a long one. One line, the same one, every morning. Mine lives close to Genesis 50:20. What was meant for harm, God meant for good. Say it and go.

Four rules that make it stick

These are the only reason mine survived.

Same time. Not "in the morning." A time. Mine is first light.

Same order. Same steps, same sequence, every day. That is what turns it into an anchor instead of one more choice.

Before the phone. This is the one that does the actual work. If the phone comes first, it is not an anchor. It is a reaction.

Two minutes, not twenty. You are not building a morning routine you saw somewhere. You are building one thing so small you have no excuse. Small survives a bad week. Big does not.

The real reason

I have had seasons where I could not have told you what I was building toward. The lost years were real. There were long stretches where the day had no shape and I did not have an answer for anybody who asked.

The flag never fixed any of that.

What it did was give me a place to start when I did not have one. Five minutes where I knew exactly what to do and exactly how to do it right.

Some mornings that is the whole win. Some mornings that is enough to get me to the next one.

Peace is not loud. It does not announce itself. Most days it looks like a man on a porch doing a small thing on purpose, at the same time, for no audience at all.

So what is your flag? What is the one small thing you could do tomorrow morning, before the phone, that would tell you the day has a shape?

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