The Joy of Ordinary

I’m waiting for the wintry onslaught with a fresh pot of strong coffee. It’s almost an espresso roast that could walk on its own; just the strength I love. I got all my work done yesterday so that I can enjoy Winter’s blast in lazy comfort today; reading, listening to music, working on some art, meditating, and a napping.

For a while now I’ve been feeling this wonderful sense of “settled” growing in me. It's not a “give up” settled, but more a contentedness. An almost cosmic sense of having exactly what I need and not longing for anything more. If I had to put it into a statement it would be, “I am here, right now in this very moment, with everything I need and I don’t want for more.” I’m not rich, not famous, not powerful or even “worldly” to much of a degree. There are places I’d love to go I know I’ll never get to. Things I’d like to see in person I know I won’t. Good people in the world I will never meet. Sometimes I eat too much, have one Old Fashioned too many, stay up later than I should, sleep later than I intended, and sometimes don’t get everything done in the day I’d hoped to. Strangely enough that gives me a profound sense of comfort; that everything is okay. It’s a deeper sense of happiness and contentedness sprinkled with a dusting of a profound confidence as their product. The ordinariness of my life, the joy of the every day and the sense of comfort and place that accompanies it is absolutely delicious.

The Speed of Life

Making coffee this morning I realized more than likely I have less years to live than years I've lived in my current city. That’s not some fatalistic, depressive thinking. It’s just a realization about how temporary and quick it all is. I really felt it in that way that a reality hits you some days. You find yourself so deeply anchored in the revelation of the moment. You are here and now in this thought.

We think seventy or eighty years is a long time but it’s not. This is why we must be so careful in how and what we fill our thinking with, how we spend our time and who we spend it with.

Nothing terrifies me more than getting to the final scene of Act 3 and be holding an empty bag.

Sunrise Serenity

Sitting with my coffee in the early morning quiet. I can’t fully express just much I love this. It is the most centered and peaceful moment of the day. Watching out the window as the sun comes up I think it’s the time when the day still belongs to nature; we haven’t cluttered it up yet with our noise and nonsense. I actually feel like nature is allowing me to be a part of their morning. As my friend Dan says, "I love the early morning period before anyone else gets up. The day changes when they do." Indeed so. By 9am the secret of the early hours is over. For now though, I will simply cherish the moment and be humbled by my part in it. 

Birthday Thoughts

Today is my birthday. I'm 59 today and so begins the last year of my 50s. I suppose it freaks some people out, but I welcome it. A friend said to me recently that his 50s is when he "got it" and I have to agree. My 50s were the final scene of Act II. Next year will be Act III, Scene 1 and I'm looking very forward to it.

Last year, and even more so this year, I’m discovering something about birthdays as I age. I don’t need to be feted with huge parties, enormous cakes, or showered with gifts. Like last year, I took the day off as a day to spend on some really good Me Time. I woke up early today to my usual 5a-5.30am coffee, I went to the gym, and came home to my furry companion Rufus. He's been extra attentive today and I can't help but think he knows today is something a little more special than all the other days. We took a great walk around the "Big Block" and I found myself more present and grateful than usual. My spirit is untroubled and unhurried. I’ll spend the remainder of the day reading, playing with the dog, and just appreciating being here. I've thought today about some of my friends who didn't make it this far. I can't help but feel a sense of responsibility to them. To live my life as fully as possible and for myself and for them. To let their spirit live vicariously in me. To keep them close in my thoughts and heart. As I age I'm more appreciative of these things. They're far more precious and rewarding than any physical gift I could receive. 

This entry's image was AI-generated.  

The Eternal Morning

Rising before dawn is one of my most intimate joys. Sometimes those mornings seem eternal. The sunrise is a little slower. The coffee goes down just a tad more deliciously. The dog’s snoring a little more comforting. Every sound my 104-year old apartment makes is some sort of joyful, secret whisper. The world seems a little quieter outside. It’s mornings like that I feel hyper present, in tune with and touching every slight nuance of everything.

This entry's image was AI-generated.  

The Saturday Ritual

I began today the same way I do each Saturday. I wake up at 5am and wander into the kitchen to make the coffee and wait until about half a cup is brewed. It's the thickest, oiliest, most potent portion of the pot (and the tastiest!) I pour it into my cup on top of a splash of creamer. Yes, I love my coffee so strong it could walk on its own! I head for the living room and open the blinds to the east-facing window. I sit down in my favorite armchair in the dark and absolute silence to await the growing sunrise. It's my favorite time of day; I'm alone with my thoughts, my coffee, and the rising sun. For an hour or two the world is still slumbering and it's quiet and serene. In those few hours my mind is clear and I am thoughtful in ways that remind me I am a living, breathing part of a living, breathing planet. That harmonious "oneness" is palpable and profound in its simplicity. The sunrise gradually kisses the room with a warm, orange "Hello!" and I begin the journey into my day unencumbered, mindful, and enlightened. 

Sunday Morning Serenity

I walked Rufus and it was one of those mornings where there was so little activity outside you'd swear overnight the world ended and you're the last person alive. It was dead quiet. Just me, my Frenchie, and the sunrise. Now I'm back in the house enjoying my morning coffee. No music. No television*. Just the growing day out the windows and peace and quiet. For the life of me I can't figure out why people are afraid of this kind of serenity.

*I don't own a television. I stream things I want to watch on my laptop. My total viewing time is about three to four hours a week. 

Appreciation and the Almond Croissant

I've been learning to appreciate my appreciation of things. The other day I had an almond croissant and a cup of super strong, super black coffee with just a splash of Half and Half. I've always appreciated that morning treat, but I've never really stopped to 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦 it: appreciating the appreciation. I think it has a lot to do with my awareness of and deep sense of satisfaction from simple, uncomplicated things. "Less is more" is a powerful truth. The other part of that is mindfulness. Learning to not only be fully cognizant of the moment one is in but to recognize its ability to ground and satisfy is a skill worth its weight in gold. All that from an almond croissant and coffee.

The Peace of Presence

There comes an age where priorities and things one thought were so important honestly aren't anymore. All you'd like is peace and quiet. Living a simple, uncomplicated life, quietly sipping your coffee or tea in your favorite chair as the sun's coming up. Moving through the day knowing where you are with yourself and feeling like your'e fully in the present moment.

Morning Coffee

I'm sitting sipping my coffee in my favorite chair in my dining room. In that moment in the quiet of the morning, the sun not up yet, I realize it's the perfect moment. Not perfect in the sense of everything arranged just so or everything aligned to the boundaries of a perfectionist mentality. Perfect in the sense of simple. The simple moments are the most profound and usually the most overlooked. Sipping coffee in a favorite chair at the favorite time of day. What could possibly be better than that?

The Awareness of Coffee

I was making the morning coffee and I suddenly had an overwhelming sensation. It was as if each step in making the coffee was its own plane I was moving through. I could see the ones behind and the one in front. It gave me a sudden sense of immediacy and hyper awareness. The task of making coffee itself became like something almost removed from time itself and there was a sort of organic or living joy to the task.

My friend Dan said I seemed to be adopting the mental attitude and existential meaning of the Japanese Tea Ceremony. I like that. 

Early Morning

The hours between roughly 4 am and 9 am are my favorite. It is the most serene and tranquil part of the day. I get up and putz around my kitchen in the quiet darkness. I either turn on the coffeemaker or put water on to boil for the French Press. When the coffee is ready I sit quietly. It's just me alone with an uncluttered mind. The day's cacophony of junk hasn't invaded my space just yet. Sometimes I sit and just reflect, sometimes I watch where my mind wanders and enjoy the path, sometimes I read, or sometimes I write. In the wintertime I love to see the sun coming up and casting a bluish glow off o the snow and on to everything. Regardless of the season moving from darkness to the warm glow of sunrise is an intimacy that few take the time to appreciate. It's a very personal time that is a joy and a treasure.

Pasteries, Beaches, and French Roast

I just went and got pasteries for the morning breakfast, then took a walk on the beach. See picture for my exciting (at least to me!) beach finds. Now while everyone else is still sleeping, I’ve made a French press full of heavy, hard French roast coffee. I’m sitting in the quiet of the morning enjoying my beach treasures and my coffee realizing this is it. It’s simple, it’s quiet, and these little things and quiet moments connect me to the larger “it” that’s out there.