The Daily Planner
Inside the confines of a small, 3x5 spiral-bound daily planner lay our entire day’s schedule, meticulously blocked out in 30-minute increments with a ballpoint pen. Like an Excel spreadsheet.
6:30 am | Arise
Our morning alarm echoed throughout our downstairs basement apartment. As my eyes lazily opened, I found myself lying atop a rock-hard twin mattress. The morning sun hadn’t yet crest the eastern plains of our dark and bare, white-walled bedroom. I turned off my alarm, which now sat between photos of my family which I had laid out the night before.
From across the room, I could hear my companion slipping out of his bed, as if in one fluid movement. His knees flopped to the floor as he lazily threw his head onto his bed. He achieved this transition with such fluidity, it can only be explained by repetition and routine.There in this somewhat kneeled position, he silently mumbled his morning prayers.
I then quickly found myself rolling out of bed and tossing my knees onto the ground. My face fell into the bed sheets that I wasn’t sure had been cleaned before my arrival. I glanced at the threadbare sheets and cringed, deciding I needed to buy my own.
Crouched on the ground, still partially asleep, I muttered my morning prayer to the Mormon God above, likely to bless my first real day as a missionary out in the field. Then I quickly wrapped it up, hoping to beat my companion to the bathroom.
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After, I stumbled into the kitchen. I opened the refrigerator door, grabbed the lactose-free milk I had bought the night before, and then snagged my off-brand bagged Captain Crunch cereal. I opened our kitchen cabinet and noticed we only had two bowls. Both in a rippled, fluorescent colored plastic that had an integrated straw, perfect for drinking cereals leftover milk. I poured a bowl and took a seat at our two-seater kitchen table, with a peeling top coat, appearing to have come from a previous well-used home.
As I watched my companion walk into our kitchen, he pulled out a high-end health brand cereal from the cabinets, which cost three times as much as mine and contained three times less. From inside the fridge, he retrieved vanilla-flavored soy milk. I commented that vanilla was much better than the original, to which he nodded in a mix of surprise that despite my small-town roots, I had tried soy milk before this date in 2006.
We sat across from each other at our round wooden table. Above us, attached to the wall, was a large whiteboard containing a hand-drawn version of our 5x8 spiral-bound planner. We sat in silence, as if the alarm echoing at 6:30 am hadn’t quite left the confines of our craniums.
7:00 am | Exercise
Nestled in a dusty corner of our basement sat our workout bench, which appeared to be from the clearance section of Kmart 15 years prior. A small bench press set with a leather-like plastic seat and aged yellow padding beneath.
On either side of the suspended chrome iron-esque bar sat two weights encased in a light grey cracking plastic shell, with chipping concrete beneath. I did a few reps with what was already on the bar. I noticed my companion finding his way to our navy blue thrifted couch. He said in the center of the couch as he pulled his oversized sweater hood over his head, almost completely covering his face.
After a few minutes I glanced over to find him in what seemed like either a upright deep meditation or an extended sleep time.
After a significant lack of movment, I took it as a sign to hit the shower first.
7:30 am | Prepare for the Day
After my shower, I headed to my closet. Behind a set of mirrored sliding glass doors lay my wardrobe. I grabbed a pair of slacks, a long sleeve white oxford shirt, and a pair of black dress socks with a polo Ralph Lauren logo stitched far above the ankle, a gift from my sister. I then changed out of my pajamas, which consisted of a red Georgia Bulldogs t-shirt and a pair of Georgia Bulldogs gym shorts, a subtle counter to the Canadian flag hanging above my companion’s desk.
Once dressed, I reached for my black name badge, embossed in bold white letters. At the top, it read “Elder Shinnick,” and below, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.” I slid the badge into the shirt’s front pocket as I made my way toward my study desk. 8 am was quickly approaching, which meant it was time for personal study.
8:00 am | Personal Study
For the next hour, I sat behind my desk with my back to my companion, in silence. Not out of choice, but out of deciphering what this new life would be like. Would every morning at 8:00 am be like this? Soon into our studies, a mixture of footsteps could be heard rumbling on the floor above us.
In the remaining two-thirds of the house lived a young Mormon family with three kids: a toddler daughter, a 5-year-old boy, and a 7-year-old boy. The father was a young game warden, and the mother was a stay-at-home mom, both in their early to mid-30s. The barrier dividing our living spaces was marked by a dividing white wall from floor to ceiling, which my desk faced.
The only thing separating our lives was a door that could only be unlocked from their side.
After the commotion wore down on the other floor, 9 am rolled around, signaling companion study time.
9:00 am | Companion Study
We both moved to the kitchen table, where we had just eaten our cereals two hours ago. For the next 30 minutes, we attempted to relay to each other what we had learned during our personal study time.
But the tiredness from the early morning persisted. And we were scheduled to leave early that day. As a result, we cut our study time short as my companion disappeared into our bathroom as I waited for 9:45am to roll around.
9:45 am | Leave Early for District Meeting
We exited our basement apartment and began to make our hour long journey to Denver to meet and study with the other Mormon Missionaries in the city.
The drive to Denver was a mix of silence and soft, contemplative music from the Mormon Tabernacle choir spinning inside the CD changer . My mind wandered through the events of the morning, There was a peculiar comfort in the predictability of it all, a stark contrast to the uncertainty that had filled my thoughts since arriving.
As the city skyline came into view from the eastern plains, my heart pounded with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. Today, I would meet the other missionaries—people who were once strangers but would soon become friends and the strangest type of colleagues. I couldn’t help but wonder if they, too, had felt the same unease on their first day.
We pulled into the church parking lot of a Denver congregation. Stepping out of the car, I adjusted my name badge, its presence both a weight and a badge of honor. Elder Shinnick, it read—a title I was still getting used to.