On Patterns and Comfort
Morning, 0600. The perfect time to wake up. I always found the morning hours seem to last for a time and a half. The amount of productivity I experience between 0600-0900 would take me the equivalent of 6 hours in the rest of the day. This is my gilded time. My favorite time. Why wake up at any other hour?
Once I build the strength to get out from under my fortress of warmth, my sanctuary of bliss, I pour a handful of coffee beans into the mortar, grind them, and make a lovely cup of french pressed coffee. I lay out a blanket, connect in my yoga practice for 30 minutes, meditate, and prepare for the day.
After my studies, I go to the closest park to get some fresh air before the sun passes below the horizon. I park, grab my bag, and walk, a counterclockwise loop around the entire preserve. I always start with a right turn. This way I got to make the steep ascent while I’m fresh, work up a small sweat, then enjoy the golden hour while walking among the more level trees, savoring the light dance between the branches, before returning home. It is the ideal way to enjoy the evening hours at the preserve.
I lay to rest on the left side of the bed, that’s my side. That’s where I first lay down, it’s where I continued to lay down. It works, it’s comfortable.
Those are my normal days. The days I’m confined to a pattern, the days that inspire my weekends, the days I dream about breaking free from the routine and spending the weekend camping along a river. Maybe I’ll spend the weekend on a road-trip to see the wonder of Arizona’s geology; maybe I’ll spend the entire time wrapped in blankets with a coffee mug in my hands and a pile of books at my side. I might go to my local coffee shop and loose my weekend in veneration to caffeine, the wonder molecule who boosts my mood, my creativity, my drive.
Maybe… when I return to my bed, my sweet palace of cotton and heat, I’ll switch sides. The next morning, I’ll spike my earthy elixir with a cardamon seed, meditate before yoga. I’ll pack the book I was planning to read next weekend and get a sneaky head start between lectures. Take a left turn and scale down the cliff relying more heavily on my touch, then my eyes, as the sun takes her siesta for the evening.
Tomorrow, I might change it again, and next week, and next month. Certain things have to be done every day, by choice or necessity. But just because they’re the same, doesn’t mean they can’t be different.