ironclad will

I really wish there was someone who could make me a cup of coffee.

When I wake up in the morning and the kids are asleep, I just want to write. And I want a cup of coffee while I write. But I don’t want to disturb the quietude of my mind by doing anything in the kitchen. I don’t want to hear the coffee beans being blasted, I don’t want to wait to hear the water boiling. I want to stay in the quiet zone of my mind and just have someone bring it to me.

I know even a walk in the morning would be good before I write. But I don’t even want to go out there and be bombarded by smells that conjure up memories that make me want to write about other things. I just want to write about where I am at right now.

But I want someone to make me coffee.

I don’t want to disturb the cat who is placed right next to me and in petting distance when I get bored of writing.

I don’t want to move around in the kitchen and make noise that then invites other voices in the house to start asking for things.

I just want to stay in this mood that I’m in and write about it. but having a nice cup of joe while I’m doing this would be so perfect. That’s why I should have a coffeemaker in my room! And a little fridge even. So that I could make my coffee and have a little cream ready to go right then and there. That would be my dream. I need to make it happen.

It’s the little things…

Last night I sat in a small bar waiting for a friend to show up. When I walked in this tiny bar, there was a table full of people who all knew each other. There was cowboy dude at the bar that I knew I probably wouldn’t want to talk to (nothing against cowboys but I just wasn’t in the mood) and a woman bartender who looked chipper but also not really my type. So I decided not to sit at the bar. I sat at a table closest to the exit so that I could feel safe knowing I could leave whenever I wanted. I wasn’t totally committed to being there. I went through the usual discomfort of feeling weird that I was alone at a bar and then eventually my focus changed to observing the blues musician who was…. Okay. Honestly, it sounded like he had just learned how to play the piano last week but his enthusiasm and genuine love of playing won out and I applauded him after every song. I noticed a woman who came in. long hair. Feather tied behind her ear. Glittery white eye shadow. Eventually she and the bartender started dancing and then this other dude who had moved from the large group began to sit at the bar and watch them dance, with a lusty look in his eye. When the women would dance close and sway their hips in sync, his eye would peer sideways at them, with a hint of a smile, as if to say… hmmm, show me more ladies, show me more!

Eventually my friend arrived and I listened to her stories. I remembered this thing I had read in this silly book on creativity (which had only ‘hits’ or ‘misses’ of credible wisdom on the subject but here was a hit). The book talked about ‘why not just let yourself listen to someone totally for a change.’ Barely say a word. Just listen to the rhythm and cadence of their manner of speaking. Let it wash over you. Let their worldview penetrate your own. Let their mind take the stage. Let yourself be taken where their mind wants to go. Absorb their way of being and let it affect you. So that’s what I did. I listened. Pretty much the whole time and I was taken on a journey to South America and it was great.

And when I drove home later, I felt like I had actually gone somewhere. My body and mind had left the peninsula for a good long while.

Sometimes I have energy for people. Sometimes I don’t. when I am around people (as a teacher but also whenever), I feel like I absorb so much (like a chameleon) that it takes me a long time of being alone to remember who I am again. it’s a weird dichotomy to live. I love people. I love watching them, being surprised by them, hearing about other people’s lives that don’t remotely resemble my own. Reading people is like reading books for me. I live a thousand lives when I meet a thousand people. Maybe I’m an ‘empath’ which seems to be all the rage right now but whatever it is, I love to be transported into another person’s life. The problem is… I can too easily forget to live my own. And that is why I retreat wildly whenever I can. And I have to remember to remind myself to retreat. It’s like the difference between the teachers I see at work who can work with their office doors open and those who can’t. I can’t. I absolutely cannot. I have no earthly clue how anyone can get anything done with people constantly shuffling back and forth with comments and smiles and waves. I would have to have an ironclad will of determined effort to resist looking at all of those people and imagining their stories. I am easily distracted you might say. Or, a positive way to look at it, I am abundantly curious.


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