When I wake up in the morning, I just can't get started until

Hear the strange and jester-like words of Emo Philips, who declared: “When I wake up in the morning, I just can’t get started until I’ve had that first, piping hot pot of coffee. Oh, I’ve tried other enemas.” At first, these words strike the ear as absurd, an odd mingling of the ordinary ritual of coffee with the shocking grotesque of the comedian’s humor. Yet beneath the laughter there lies an ancient truth, one clothed in satire: that man is a creature of habit, and that his mornings are shaped not by the rising of the sun, but by the rituals he clings to.

The meaning of this saying is twofold. On its surface, it mocks our dependence upon stimulants and routines. The jarring contrast between the noble, almost sacred image of the morning cup of coffee and the crude reference to an enema reminds us how desperate people can become in their search for energy, clarity, and awakening. But beneath the jest is a mirror to the soul: we are reminded how fragile the human spirit is upon rising from sleep, and how even small rituals can feel like the very fuel that ignites our day. Humor, here, is a mask for truth—that we are beings bound by both frailty and longing.

The origin of such wisdom can be found in the ancient role of laughter itself. The court jesters of old, like Philips, were not mere fools; they were truth-tellers, cloaked in absurdity. By exaggerating, by shocking, by twisting the ordinary into the ridiculous, they forced men to look inward at their weaknesses. So too does Philips here: by linking coffee to something as outlandish as enemas, he jolts us into recognition of how dependent we have become on substances, rituals, and comforts.

Consider the story of Voltaire, the great philosopher, who was said to drink as many as forty cups of coffee each day to fuel his writing and thought. He adored the drink so much that when doctors warned him of its danger, he laughed at them and continued anyway. Though he did not jest as Philips did, his habit reflected the same truth: that great minds, like ordinary ones, often tether their power to rituals of the body. In both Voltaire’s excess and Philips’ satire, we see humanity’s need to bind spirit and flesh through morning rites.

The lesson is this: humor often cloaks a serious truth. We must beware of becoming enslaved by our comforts, of believing that we cannot live, think, or act without the crutch of routine. Rituals are powerful—they can give structure, energy, and focus—but when dependence turns to enslavement, we risk mocking ourselves. To laugh at our own habits, as Philips invites us to, is to gain freedom from them, for laughter breaks the chains of solemnity and reveals our follies for what they are.

Practical actions must follow. Begin your day with ritual, yes, but let your ritual be chosen consciously, not clung to blindly. If you drink coffee, let it be with gratitude, not desperation. If you meditate, stretch, or walk at dawn, let it be to strengthen yourself, not merely to appease habit. And above all, learn to laugh at your own needs and weaknesses, for in humor there is release, and in release, wisdom.

And so, child of tomorrow, remember the jest of Emo Philips. Coffee may stir your body, humor may stir your spirit, but wisdom comes from knowing that neither defines you. Laugh at your frailty, embrace your rituals, but do not be mastered by them. For the day belongs not to those who drink or jest, but to those who rise with clarity, who use ritual as a servant, and who step forth into the morning with joy rather than chains.