The cheerful whirring and tinkling of the coffee pot, the smell of hazelnut roast wafting in from the kitchen–these are today’s gentle reminders that I overslept. That by 12:30 p.m. I should be dressed and moving, not pajama-clad and scrambling for the nearest source of caffeine.
But hey, I’ve never been a morning person. Are you? I’d love to offer you a fresh cup of coffee–do you take it black or with a splash of something sweet?–and hear your thoughts on the subject.
I must admit, there is something kind of great about my daily routine this summer. The luxury of waking up minus the panicked what’s-next, what-am-I-late-for feeling that accompanied each buzz of my alarm back at school. To have a mid-morning sip of something steamy, to curl up on the couch and lasso-in runaway thoughts with nothing but the subdued ticking of the clock to divide the silence. I like that I have this time to breathe, to plan,
to worry, to daydream. To let the circles under my eyes fade away naturally, without cosmetic assistance.
My typical weekday doesn’t truly take off until the sun is high in the sky and the roads are trafficked with people headed home on their lunch breaks. And then it’s a whirlwind of errands and grocery lists. Outdoorsy exploits. Attempting to replicate interesting new recipes. Driving beyond the limits of my forested hometown with the windows down, signs labeled Kent, Ohio receding in the rear-view. Trips to the pool, pooling quarters to buy raspberry dark-chocolate milkshakes. Making time to cross items off of my bucket list, no matter how small. (Most recent:
plan a road trip.) Speed-dialing the boyfriend when it’s been a little too long since I’ve listened to his laugh.
Evenings are even busier, with long shifts at work that don’t end until the sky’s standard blue has melted into a velvety black and the streets are 90% deserted. Nightfall has always been my favorite. Cruising through the inky darkness, through unassuming neighborhoods with the radio turned down to a murmur: you can keep your early mornings, this is the time I feel most like myself. I feel alive, alert; I love the feel of a city asleep. Whether my next destination is a friend’s house or my house or nowhere at all, I relish this lump of left-over time that I can spend however I please.
But we’re not there yet, are we?
Nope, it’s still early and sunny and the day is still begging to be taken advantage of. The coffee pot is still keeping warm an extra few sips of black energy, saved for emergencies. And I’m appreciative of my morning quiet-time, no really, I am. It’s during this time that I can plan color schemes for my future apartment, Google search the exact breed of dog I want to own some day. Envision myself speaking fluent Spanish with the locals at a farmer’s market outside of Madrid (two years from now, fingers crossed!)
I can eat spoonfuls of oatmeal with raisins and cinnamon-sugar washed down with milk. Count exactly how many days are left until I move back to college (seventy-one!) Journal all about my dreams from last night, dissecting them for shreds of real-life intuition. Construct a book list, scope out sun-drenched spots to start a flower garden.
And maybe, just maybe, I can learn how to love mornings, one coffee-sip at a time.