Morning Ritual

“Good God! Make it stop!” My mind screams as my fingers fumble for my phone, eyelids still glued shut. “Why are alarms so ANNOYING?!”

Well, they wouldn’t work otherwise... Hell, they barely work for you now.

“Ugggh... Okay time to get up, you can do this.” I say to myself.

What a great pep talk, a grand effort to simply get out of bed.

Dramatically, I throw off the covers, acting as if the universe is slighting me in some way, forcing me into this grand cosmic scheme... but I think it’s just called existing…

Or is it?

I pull myself up and out of bed onto the cold hardwood floor that presses firmly against the soles of my feet. I take a step forward and my skin prickles as the breath of early morning softly kisses my neck. I shiver the chills away... shaking off the strange tension and buzz in my body that makes me want to crawl back into bed and hide away from the world.

“Alas, I’ve been forced to leave my warm cocoon.” I say as I reluctantly get ready to take on the day.

Tripping over my feet I stumble into the kitchen: mouth wide, brain begging for more oxygen. I reach out to grab the manual burr grinder and remember how this little contraption lost me close to an entire day off my life from the research rabbit hole I found myself in.

“You see, coffee grinders that use blades to chop the beans give an inconsistent grind and don’t release the flavors as well, so if you want the best tasting coffee, you simply must go with a burr grinder-”

Ehhh you probably don’t care.

I have to remind myself that other people aren’t invested in my special interests like I am, but believe me, I picked the absolute best one. Well, I mean, I picked the best one that fit into my broke ass budget… still, I’m not one to let a day of research go to waste. But now I have a problem, because even though the coffee is delicious, I have buyer's remorse. Now, every time I pick up that damn thing, I think:

Why did you get this? Why not an electric grinder? I mean, okay, it’s cool, its hipstery, and very functional... But this, this is... 

Something for the morning!

A time when you’re tired
And everything feels hard
A time where body and mind are not on speaking terms
Strange confusion in existence
And a dire need for…

Coffee.

“A manual grinder is not something you want first thing when you wake up, something that requires effort is not appropriate, not now!” I complain to myself. “God, not at this time of day… we need caffeine in our body ASAP!”

Is coffee in an IV a thing?

“Things get so much harder as you age, like having to hand grind your fucking coffee beans.”

Suddenly, amid talking to myself, I realize I’ve been grinding my coffee long enough. I’m just spinning circles at this point; the beans are probably dust by now.

“Shit! Did I start the water?”

I look over at the stove, see the kettle steaming and wonder how I missed its scream.

“Oh, thank God!” I say, immediately glad no one’s around to witness my madness.

As my patience grows thin, I gather the rest of the supplies to make my bougie-ass coffee, since apparently Mr. Coffee isn’t cool enough anymore. I pour in the water, and as the steam rises, with it comes the heavenly aroma of roasted bean juice.

“Hehe… bean juice” I chuckle to myself.

My eyes light up and heart flutters, an automatic response from those deeply rutted neural pathways. I feel like a dog trained by Pavlov himself.

Drooling over bean juice.

I walk over to my olive-green chair in the corner, the one from that giant Ikea haul of everything I needed when I moved. I intentionally put that chair right there knowing it would be the perfect spot for my most treasured ritual... coffee and a book by the window each morning.

Anticipation builds as I get closer with each step, like someone wandering in the desert that has just spotted water up ahead.

“Wow, you’re so dramatic!”

Self-deprecation has always come so naturally to you.

That comfy spot looks extra welcoming today as the sunlight streams in, gently kissing the chair before running off to paint contrasting stripes on the floor. Noticing a beautiful haze created by the mix of dust and warm light, I laugh as I realize this beauty is created by filth, how ironic.

“I need to clean more often.” I scold myself. “Add it to the ever-growing list of habits to build for self-improvement.”

Daily stretching, stop biting my nails, meditate regularly, etc.

“The list full of things that never seem to get crossed off.”

Neurodivergence wins again!

But I’m not worried about that now. The chair embraces me as I sit down, placing my mug on the oversized windowsill that makes for the perfect side table.

Mmm, feels like home...

I start thinking about how rituals can give that semblance of home, of permanence, even in the greatest times of impermanence. And the comfort I find in this thought is appreciated, especially today as I look around this room devoid of furniture and cluttered with boxes that still need unpacking.

Suddenly it hits me. “I’m really doing this. All on my own.”

I start thinking back on the past year and quickly turn my head to look out the window, desperately searching for distraction, something to occupy that space in my mind so I don’t have to relive painful memories.

“This is good... This is a fresh start.” I hope by saying the words aloud it will somehow work to reassure myself, though my chest seems to be filled to the brim with ambivalence.

I let out a big sigh, unaware of my body’s sneaky self-regulation tactics, but I still seem to be holding onto a lot of tension. It’s probably from the guilt and shame I’ve been feeling for choosing my own happiness over the happiness of loved ones, something a lot of queer people experience when they get to a place of accepting themselves and living truthfully.

The sacrifices made to live a life of authenticity are necessary, but that doesn’t make them hurt any less.

A sharp pain pierces my heart like the sun pierces my eyes, as it reflects off the snow. I gaze out the window at all the people scurrying about, getting ready to start their days.

I think to myself, “I wonder if this bittersweet feeling will ever go away…”

As my mind drifts off, all at once I remember I have a book and a warm mug of coffee waiting for me on the windowsill. Pages crack as I open my book and nestle into the chair. I drape my favorite blanket across my lap and reach for the red handle of my mug. Holding it between my hands, I breathe in the steam and notice the warmth travel throughout my body. As I take that first sip of coffee on that first morning in my first apartment since leaving my marriage, I think to myself…

Is this going to work?

Then audibly, I put it out into the universe, speak it into being...

“Yeah. This is going to work.”