HOME | MULTI-FOUNDER LIFESTYLE The 4 am CEO
From early workouts and platform building to luxury events, travel logistics and weddings- Alyx Jordan takes us through 18 hours of a layered, high-functioning multi-founder lifestyle.
MAY 2025
Four a.m. I wake up naturally. I’ve tried to stay in bed longer—really tried—but it never sticks. My alarm is set for 5am, but I’m always up an hour before it. It’s now a natural habit—not because I read it in a book or because of a recent trend. It’s just how I am. I like the head start, so it’s okay. A 4 a.m. rise lets me steady the day before it begins. It’s a chance to prioritise my needs and set the tone. It’s also nice to watch as the house transitions from stillness to life, rather than being caught in “running late” chaos. My children usually wake around five thirty on school days, and I like being up before them.
I slip out of bed without disturbing my husband. He sleeps deeply but never late. He’ll be swimming by seven thirty. I reach for my lounging abaya—regal, soft, and ceremonial in its own way—and move quietly into the open lounge. The environment is still and minimal. I pour myself a black coffee and sit by the folding doors where I can hear the pump gently stirring the water in the pool. As a water sign, I’ve always felt grounded by watery movement—pools, rain, oceans. Even my photoshoots tend to be water inspired. It’s where I feel most myself.
As I sit curled in the couch, I open Sky High - the software I designed and built to manage my multi-venture ecosystem. It shows me all of my businesses at a glance—revenue, engagement, operations, follow-ups. When the data looks strong, I breathe deeper. When it doesn’t, I’m fired up. Either way, I’m focused. I sit in the quiet and slowly get to work, refining a pricing model, re-sequencing content and tweaking a product description. Clarity sets the day.
By 5:15am, I’m in my bathroom organising my hair into a smooth chignon. I quietly move between the bathroom and my walk-in closet, trying not to disturb my husband. I choose my faithful gym uniform, a blend of oversized tees, a hoodie, two waist trainers and leggings. I prefer to concentrate on the training session rather than the aesthetics. I'm happy to fade inconspicuously into the background. I'm not a fan of being watched like a TV show.
While standing in the bathroom, my phone begins to wake. Messages are coming in from a friend. She is also awake and confirming details for an event we are attending this evening. The exchange is brief. She’s no doubt en route to rehearsals at the venue. Like me, she’ll have a long day ahead. Confirmations are sorted and by five forty-five I’m driving towards the gym. The roads are quiet and this is a great opportunity to voice note myself. I capture any “notes to-self”, which I’ll listen to throughout the day in order to stay on top of miscellaneous side tasks.
Six a.m. I train. This includes lifting, skipping, and running. I don’t train for aesthetics anymore. I’m happy with my progress. I have a simple routine which I use to prepare my body when I am modelling, but I mostly train for performance, mindset, and character.
Seven forty-five. I’m in the car. A friend and I mutually cancel a meeting. She’s an international executive visiting for one week, but our diaries are merciless. She’s brilliant, connected, personable, and definitive—but the timing is wrong. We’ll reschedule for a video call. Whilst I am sat I remember something. I make a note to self: accelerate the Chief of Staff search, specifically for family household management. We need a strategist. Someone who can align several schedules, book our flights, manage applications, make submissions on our behalf, and hire a chef and one more driver. My husband and I have carried the load long enough. As we evolve, so do our responsibilities. It’s time to seek help. And I’m finally okay with asking for it.
On my journey home I stop at the ATM and call home to remind everyone that we have guests at 9 a.m., so look alive. I don’t want to see any swimming gear on the dining table or wet husbands casually strolling around post-swim in a towel. While that’s wonderful for me—and a firm part of his daily pottering routine—it won’t sit well with conservative older guests.
By 8am I arrive home. The housekeeper will arrive at midday, so in preparation for our guests, the children and I prepare a light spread of tea, fruit, juice, and biscuits. They like helping. They are very good at hosting and extremely well-behaved for 11 and 8.
Eight forty-five. My husband is dressed and calm. He’s finished his swim, showered, had his protein shake and is now into part two of his pottering mode. He moves through the morning at his own pace. He’s the definition of ease—unbothered, present, steady. A very peaceful guy.
I clamber through my closet looking for a maxi shirt to throw over my gym kit, I wont to have time to shower before our guests arrive. As I search and apply a wet brush to my hair, my husband follows behind me to topically discuss our family calendar. We have a trip to Dubai, then Tuscany, one international wedding, return flights, a second wedding for four days, an award show, two birthdays, and a leaving party for a dear friend who’s moving to Paris.
Our guests arrive at exactly 9 a.m.—I expect nothing less. The children greet and seat, and provide them with refreshments. The guests are here to personally deliver the invitation for the previously mentioned wedding. The ceremony is for their daughter - my friend, and also my French tutor. They walk us through the 4 day agenda. Three hundred and fifty families will attend across four days. I listen carefully, ask questions, and confirm our traditional attire. I take notes—mental and literal—and silently flag a few scheduling conflicts. But it’s all manageable. It always is.
The children use the opportunity to ask for a console. They send the youngest. He asks sweetly and I’m in host mode—too distracted to deny. They get what they want and giggle away into the TV room to play Mario Kart. It’s a cheeky move, but the lawyer in me respects that they’re outcome focused. It’s midterm break, so they’re home. And their timing was strategic.
Our guests leave at nine thirty sharp and I can finally take my morning shower. Once sorted, I change into comfortable home wear—another shirt and loose trousers—and my husband prepares two espressos (my least favourite, but effective). Coffee number two. We sit on the couch and continue our calendar discussion. We have flights, accommodations, layovers, packing, gifts, and more to prepare for. We both have hectic days ahead.
We run through logistics. He’ll take the kids tonight. I’ll be in the city. This isn’t delegation—it’s rhythm. After a long day, he likes to unwind with his cubs, grab takeout, and shut off.
By 10 a.m., he heads to the office. We’re both in seasons of expansion. It helps to move in sync. I open the folding doors and step into the courtyard. I take a call barefoot under the thatched pergola. Our neighbourhood is silent. Private. I can speak freely at a normal volume.
Eleven. FaceTime with my sister. She’s just left her office. She’s in London for a bridesmaid dress fitting but usually based in South America. We’ll see each other soon in Tuscany. We talk about her work—she’s a consultant, a coach, a previous UN executive, a trader, a lecturer. She’s in her early thirties and honestly, she’s a powerhouse.
Eleven thirty. I prepare a quick snack for the children. They are hungry. I move between checking my product matrix on my MacBook and working the air fryer. I serve lunch, fruit, and water. I cook and tidy as I go. It’s how I was raised.
The staff arrive. Now I can concentrate a little more on the issue at hand—my wardrobe. Today, I need a day-to-night outfit. Something that feels right for the office, but allows me to seamlessly move into an evening of champagne and canapés with a room full of CEOs, ministers, and UN delegates. I go for a long shoulder strap dress with a thigh-high slit, a cropped cardigan, and a backup ivory linen blazer in a suit bag. The bun is met with frowns from the kids. I switch to a wet-look vibe and a of cream fedora that I picked up in Greece last year. Lazy, easy, approved.
Twelve thirty. I brief the au pair on the events of the days, homework etc. We discuss our trip to Tuscany. She will be travelling with us. We speak in french and she tells me that she is worried about the language barrier whilst we are abroad. I reassure her: most of the guests at the wedding will speak a mix of Russian, French, Italian,Hindi and English. She’ll be fine. I see her shoulders drop. She’s capable. She just needed confirmation. I then realise I have lost my keys.
At one thirty, after searching for a full hour, I found my keys. I text my principal manager to let her know I’m on my way. I’m running late for a strategy session we are due to have. My driver has the day off, so I take our small runaround car and drive myself.
Two p.m. I arrive at the office and get straight into work: a six-month strategy, roundtable plans, guest list mapping, book launch, and private dinner logistics. I review salaries, fix a crashed website, answer two phones, and build a QR-coded digital business card, which I save to my lock screen. I prefer paperless.
Four fifteen. My new driver arrives. My right hand meets him first, debriefing him on etiquette, location, and expectations.She explains that I don’t like small talk—I usually work or take calls, and I need air con for the entire journey because I suffer motion sickness when reading code or reviewing designs. It appears more harsh than I am. I just like to use the time to be productive. He and I exchange a quick smile. He’s kind and respectful. Then we navigate two hours of gridlock.
Six fifteen. We arrive at the destination. The driver pulls up directly in front of the entrance. He stops the car and walks around to open the door for me. Cameras are already flashing. Security is tight—police presence, press, event staff. I step out of the vehicle, poised and with my posture set. The moment I exit, video crews are filming. The lighting is flattering. I know how to respond.
My driver and I exchange genuine pleasantries before he heads to the driver’s bay. He’ll be waiting exactly where I was dropped off when I’m ready to leave.
I walk beyond the cameras and Press and I’m greeted by the usher, and then by my friend. She’s a UN director and one of the sharpest women I know. For the next two hours, it’s all motion—photos, conversations, presentations, champagne, and strong creative energy. I meet ministers, CEOs, UN delegates, and more. I see my manufacturing advisor—he looks sharp, no tie, well-cut suit. I’m introduced to several women who knew I’d be there and came over to connect.I network gently, but intentionally. I never perform. But I am always present.
Halfway through, my Right hand messages me—to ask how the evening is going. I glance, reply, then tuck my phone away. It’s polite to put phones away for these types of events.
By eight thirty I message my driver, I am starting to feel that 4am-start and I'm getting tired. I take a few final selfies and congratulate the team on a beautiful launch and event. I exit via the same entrance, cameras still capturing movement. He opens my car door and I seamlessly take my seat. The police officers securing the venue nod for our queue to merge with the light traffic and safely pull away.
On the way home, I call my sister for a quick debrief—we’re in different time zones, and this is my only window. She’s on her way to post work Reformer Pilates, followed by hot yoga. She’s spent the day designing a degree module. We exchange updates. She’s been given some F1 tickets to the Abu Dhabi circuit. It’ll be a nice treat to share together.
By 9pm I return home. The journey took 35 minutes instead of two hours. The children are asleep—long tucked in. I take a shower and climb into a hoodie and shorts. I make myself a croque monsieur—I forgot to eat today.
My husband is on the couch with his laptop, one eye on code and another eye on The Last of Us. He tells me about his evening with the children: Fresh Prince, Japanese takeout, lots of laughs. He tells me about his day—decisions made, plans unfolding, and what he’s quietly preparing for. I then tell him about mine.
10 p.m. I send out any final emails, check SkyHigh for revenue and engagement changes. I review task lists, and then finally floss and brush my teeth. I don’t watch TV - so instead, I curl up on the couch while my husband finishes his show. I rest my head on his lap and he strokes my back.
It takes less than 5 minutes to fall asleep.