This is how I begin every day of my life. I get up, let the dog out and then make myself a cup a coffee. I let the dog back in and then return to my bed, coffee in hand, computer in my lap. I sit here for what seems like minutes but is really hours. I write and think and contemplate. It is always the best part of my days.
It is from here that I watch the sun rise in the East out my bedroom door. I listen to the world wake up, first the light, then the birds. By the time I am done writing, my day has begun and I am a living breathing part of it. Appropriately caffeinated, but not overly, because if I have more than the one cup, we are all doomed. I am launched out of the sweet spot and orbiting Saturn. And no one likes me then, most especially me.
For the most part, coffee in bed is a solo venture. There have been times when morning coffee in bed was a shared activity. But I have been single so long now that it feels like coffee in bed is now mine and I am not sure it will ever be shared again.
As usual I am surrounded by cats, and today a teen who never sleeps with me anymore but for some reason, she reverted last night and crawled into bed with me. She now sleeps soundly at my left, completely unaware of my routine...
So I am solitary but not alone. And this would be a good metaphor for my life. Solitary but not alone.
I like the way the world and day looks from my throne of blankets and pillows. My hot coffee spurring me onward while the comfort of my bed holds me in place. I hear the crows calling and the occasional fly by of a hummingbird. The world awakes as do I.
Life is happening all around but I feel somewhat transfixed and stationary. I begin slowly, the dog scratching in her own bed next to mine. She anticipating my next move, knowing that sometimes I sit here for hours...
This is my most favorite part of my day. Right here, right now. Snuggled in, warm, slowly sipping coffee while I contemplate life, the day and a whole host of other things. I am blessed. And I know that on a deep level. This life that starts the same way every day, a reminder perhaps of all that I have access to when I slow down and enjoy it.
I wonder if this routine shall ever be shared with another again...will it be ruined? Will it be something that I miss? Will I be ok sharing this time or will I regret it?
Before my solo routine, I shared this time with Lane. This was our thing, coffee in bed while we would lounge about, talking, listening to the sounds of the waking day. It was beautiful too. And I am far enough away from that now that I can appreciate it for what it was without pining for it. I do not miss him anymore. He now belonging to a past that I do not wish to revisit.
And I have reclaimed my morning. The coffee and the time. I have supplanted him with words on a screen which is differently satisfying for sure. And it isn’t that I don’t wish that there was someone else in his stead sometimes, just that what I have found in his absence is far greater than what I found while he was here.
I found myself. Alone, in a room, drinking coffee. Lying in bed. Appreciating the life I am living while I am living it. It has become a ceremony to me. This time with the occasional cat visitor. Relaxing into my life one sip, one word at a time. The light beckoning me to join the day and me stalling to savor one more sip, one more phrase. A kind of pause in a busy life, a holding out of space that is only and solely for myself.
My days all start the same and that has become the foundation of all my writing. I come into myself here and so create a space that I do not wish to leave. And that has changed everything for me...I used to want to share this time, and myself. Today, I care more about owning my own life, occupying me. That is most important today, not sharing with someone else. And for a life long seeker of someone to share with, that is a pretty amazing feat...
I guess I don’t really mind the idea of sharing this space and time, it bothers me more that I feel I shall never meet someone who understands the beauty of a day paused in its unfolding. A suspension of time and purpose and drive. How very important it is to give oneself time each day to just exist, and for me, it begins with coffee in bed while the day just waits.
