Sometimes I’ll be making my morning coffee and, as I’m waiting for it to finish, I realize that my blank, groggy stare has fallen on a random corner of the kitchen sink. Or on the faucet. Or on the tile grout. At that moment, I’m not unhappy, I’m just — there. Waiting for my coffee, embarking on another day.
My thoughts turn to the day ahead of me, like they did 15 hours ago. Having been on my staycation for 17 days, I wasn’t exactly leaping for joy at the idea of being back in the office, especially when it would be preceded by a 30 mile drive with a stiff right knee that was still in the process of healing…although healing alone would likely take months of patience and gentle exercise before it’s back to normal.
I thought about the emails I would need to wade through and the stack of mail I’d need to sort. I thought of the sad pile of Christmas cards which had likely arrived on my desk after I’d left the office for the year that I’d need to open and then discard, as well as the status reports I’d need to catch up on. Then I thought about the meetings that my crutches and I would need to leave 10 minutes early for just to be in a conference room on time. The day was exhausting already, and my coffee wasn’t even done yet.
And then, as effortlessly as the breeze changes its direction, I was buoyed by something. A feeling. And it began in the neighborhood of my heart.
It was a feeling that didn’t so much speak to me, as it did swell up from within. A feeling that was the equivalent of standing under the smallest amout of delicate, tiny glitter particles which were being released from just above my head; I could almost feeling them drifting down around me.
It was a feeling that made me look forward, at least, to the drive to work, when I’d have a minimum of 45 minutes of uninterrupted bonding time with my favorite songs.
It was a feeling from which I was able to distinctly and delicately pull out one bit of assurance: today would be a good day.
“Your 17-day rest has done its job, and you are ready to return,” the glittery feeling said. “Relax, and you’ll be fine.” So I did.
This feeling has happened before. Sometimes it comes as I’m stepping into the shower. Other times it arrives as I’m in the middle of my lengthy-yet-relaxing (to me) makeup routine. If I’m lucky, it comes the night before something stressful and guides me toward sleep, the way a friend would take another friend’s hand. And it’s not always on a weekday — it just finds its way through my gray mist of quiet doubt and brewing unsettledness.
But when it nudges me, it reminds me that I am not in this alone. And I am grateful for its visit.
My coffee was finally ready, and we began our journey from the kitchen back to the bathroom where I would get ready for the day — my day.
I am thankful for the ability to identify, in my quietest of moments, the speck of inspiration I need to breathe in, breathe out, and go forward with a sense of calm.