Life had become dull. It was the same old routine day in and day out. Wake up after a fretful night of semi-sleep. Lay in bed contemplating the point of getting out of it but finally succumbing to the needs of the bathroom. Eventually shuffle over half alive half awake. Finish, cough once or twice and stare at the mirror in a blend of self-disgust and self-admiration.
“Why go on,” the reflection is asked.
“Why not, “it answers back.
“Fair enough.” The point conceded the morning moves on.
Hear the cars outside on the street signaling the start of the day in the city. Glance out the kitchen window momentarily, wonder about each person driving and what their story is. Are they late for work? Are they happy? Do they lead an interesting and fulfilling life, or one of regret and hardship?
Conclude that those thoughts are irrelevant to your existence and begin brewing a pot of coffee. The mundane process of removing the filter, replacing the filter, pouring the ground coffee into its proper receptacle, filling the machine with water and turning it on is neither tedious nor pleasurable, but calming. Its reassurance there will be at least some order in the upcoming day filled with chaos. That feeling alone makes you smirk and reminds you it’s always the little things in life that matter, that the bubbling and hissing of the machine is just one brief calm in the storm.
As tap water is turned into flavored caffeine you stare at your closet, weighing the pros and cons of what outfit would best suit your day. It’s nearly spring, maybe a light green and brown? But then again it’s still winter, so maybe a vibrant color, like red or orange? And suddenly like a cold breeze on a warm day your subconscious hits you—does it really matter what you choose? Somehow someway the day will still grind forward, the world will still turn, and life will continue with all of its peculiarities despite your choices.
The pot sounds its final hiss and reluctantly you choose your conformity, setting it aside.
The smell of the java in your hands is intoxicating and shamefully puts you in a better mood. You protect the mug like it holds the last drops of water on the planet and make your way out onto your balcony, the seductive streams of steam languishing lazily behind you. It is now, as the sun crests the horizon and the cold fills your lungs that you truly start to feel alive, feel happy, and feel safe.
You remark to yourself the paradox of how you’re not a morning person and yet there is nothing quite as spectacular as watching the sunrise with a chill flush to your face and a warm cup of coffee cradled in your hands. All of your concerns and half-formed fears from the night before slowly slosh away in the beautiful haze of the moment. Life may very well be a constant uphill struggle but at that singular juncture in time, it seems it’s worth it.
The minutes pass and reality reasserts itself into your psyche. There is work to be done, annoyance to be overcome, and a day that needs living. Downing the last drops you make your way back towards the bathroom. You shudder as you look at the shower curtain—not from being cold or being sick—but from the acceptance that once you step through that threshold and into the warm cascading water there will be no turning back. The day will have to be lived and sweated through.
The shower crackles on and bathes your body in its warm embrace. Again another smile breaks upon your face. Here is yet another pause in the storm, another tide break, another victory in the face of overwhelming odds. And—it feels good, luxuriously so. Sinfully so. It’s as if the high velocity of the water not only cleans your body but it cleans your mind and your soul as well. Like a pat on the back implying that it will all work out for the best eventually.
You forget to cherish every single moment of the day but yet you never forget every single drop of water that hits your body and streams down your legs and into the drain. It feels like a lover’s tepid fingertips caressing your every skin cell, making you try like hell to store the feeling in your grey matter for recall and reflection when the times get tough. In a fleet of fancy you wish you could live your whole life in that shower.
But that thought is whimsical at best, as you realize what makes it so divine is the fact that you cannot live your whole life in there. The seconds, minutes, hours, and days you spend outside that bubble of existence are what truly make it what it is. It’s only when you really miss something, when you lose it than regain it, that you can appreciate it. Turning the shower off, letting the cold stark truth of the day hit you in full, you want to call your recent realization philosophy, but its only common sense applied to practical knowledge.
No time for personal philosophy. The day must go on.
Taking one last look around at your man-made box of wood, plaster, and concrete you call home and satisfied everything is in order, you don your attire, brush your teeth, grab a cup of coffee to go, and leave. Crossing the threshold of the front door transforms you into just one more bundle of chemicals and senses—unique and yet similar to everything around you. The profoundness of that thought is swallowed up and drowned out by the bustle of the day, further reminding you such thoughts are better left unthought-of.
The people you pass on the street either acknowledge your presence or don’t—they smile or wave back, stare blankly or avert their eyes. You understand it’s not about you, but rather it’s a question of what part do you play in their daily routines. Do you remind them of a promise they broke, a friend they lost, a lover they jaded, a deal that went south, a dream they left unfulfilled, or a reminder that existence is fleeting? In the end it doesn’t really matter what you reminded them of, only that you reminded them. You shake your head at the absurdity of it all as you continue to pass by more and more of them.
They have their parts to play, as do you.
Arrive at work filled with equal parts dread, excitement, fear, and wonderment. What will the day hold? Will it be anything different than the last, or yet just another carbon-copy?
“Why go on,” the reflection is asked.
“Why not, “it answers back.
“Fair enough.” The point conceded the morning moves on.
Hear the cars outside on the street signaling the start of the day in the city. Glance out the kitchen window momentarily, wonder about each person driving and what their story is. Are they late for work? Are they happy? Do they lead an interesting and fulfilling life, or one of regret and hardship?
Conclude that those thoughts are irrelevant to your existence and begin brewing a pot of coffee. The mundane process of removing the filter, replacing the filter, pouring the ground coffee into its proper receptacle, filling the machine with water and turning it on is neither tedious nor pleasurable, but calming. Its reassurance there will be at least some order in the upcoming day filled with chaos. That feeling alone makes you smirk and reminds you it’s always the little things in life that matter, that the bubbling and hissing of the machine is just one brief calm in the storm.
As tap water is turned into flavored caffeine you stare at your closet, weighing the pros and cons of what outfit would best suit your day. It’s nearly spring, maybe a light green and brown? But then again it’s still winter, so maybe a vibrant color, like red or orange? And suddenly like a cold breeze on a warm day your subconscious hits you—does it really matter what you choose? Somehow someway the day will still grind forward, the world will still turn, and life will continue with all of its peculiarities despite your choices.
The pot sounds its final hiss and reluctantly you choose your conformity, setting it aside.
The smell of the java in your hands is intoxicating and shamefully puts you in a better mood. You protect the mug like it holds the last drops of water on the planet and make your way out onto your balcony, the seductive streams of steam languishing lazily behind you. It is now, as the sun crests the horizon and the cold fills your lungs that you truly start to feel alive, feel happy, and feel safe.
You remark to yourself the paradox of how you’re not a morning person and yet there is nothing quite as spectacular as watching the sunrise with a chill flush to your face and a warm cup of coffee cradled in your hands. All of your concerns and half-formed fears from the night before slowly slosh away in the beautiful haze of the moment. Life may very well be a constant uphill struggle but at that singular juncture in time, it seems it’s worth it.
The minutes pass and reality reasserts itself into your psyche. There is work to be done, annoyance to be overcome, and a day that needs living. Downing the last drops you make your way back towards the bathroom. You shudder as you look at the shower curtain—not from being cold or being sick—but from the acceptance that once you step through that threshold and into the warm cascading water there will be no turning back. The day will have to be lived and sweated through.
The shower crackles on and bathes your body in its warm embrace. Again another smile breaks upon your face. Here is yet another pause in the storm, another tide break, another victory in the face of overwhelming odds. And—it feels good, luxuriously so. Sinfully so. It’s as if the high velocity of the water not only cleans your body but it cleans your mind and your soul as well. Like a pat on the back implying that it will all work out for the best eventually.
You forget to cherish every single moment of the day but yet you never forget every single drop of water that hits your body and streams down your legs and into the drain. It feels like a lover’s tepid fingertips caressing your every skin cell, making you try like hell to store the feeling in your grey matter for recall and reflection when the times get tough. In a fleet of fancy you wish you could live your whole life in that shower.
But that thought is whimsical at best, as you realize what makes it so divine is the fact that you cannot live your whole life in there. The seconds, minutes, hours, and days you spend outside that bubble of existence are what truly make it what it is. It’s only when you really miss something, when you lose it than regain it, that you can appreciate it. Turning the shower off, letting the cold stark truth of the day hit you in full, you want to call your recent realization philosophy, but its only common sense applied to practical knowledge.
No time for personal philosophy. The day must go on.
Taking one last look around at your man-made box of wood, plaster, and concrete you call home and satisfied everything is in order, you don your attire, brush your teeth, grab a cup of coffee to go, and leave. Crossing the threshold of the front door transforms you into just one more bundle of chemicals and senses—unique and yet similar to everything around you. The profoundness of that thought is swallowed up and drowned out by the bustle of the day, further reminding you such thoughts are better left unthought-of.
The people you pass on the street either acknowledge your presence or don’t—they smile or wave back, stare blankly or avert their eyes. You understand it’s not about you, but rather it’s a question of what part do you play in their daily routines. Do you remind them of a promise they broke, a friend they lost, a lover they jaded, a deal that went south, a dream they left unfulfilled, or a reminder that existence is fleeting? In the end it doesn’t really matter what you reminded them of, only that you reminded them. You shake your head at the absurdity of it all as you continue to pass by more and more of them.
They have their parts to play, as do you.
Arrive at work filled with equal parts dread, excitement, fear, and wonderment. What will the day hold? Will it be anything different than the last, or yet just another carbon-copy?
