Coffee

At the coffee shop this morning, a little after eight. It is cool and gray outside, the first morning when the light feels late and the air slices into you. The peak fall colors of the weekend already seemed diluted.

It is nice to sit here with a coffee and to think. There was a time when I was dismissive of the "third place" idea, the need for a gathering place outside of home or work. I believed that the best things in life were the things you could provide for yourself. Part of me still believes that. I believe that every act of life is a work of art. Anything worth doing is worth doing well and worth doing beautifully. But this coffeeshop--it entails so much more that just a physical place--has taught me that community in some form or size is also of great value.

I like starting the day here. I like being somewhere that is not home and not work. Someplace that reduces the major influences in my life just a bit. Nothing can really reduce the place that my family plays, which is central. But it is helpful to think about the tasks for the day here, rather than at my desk. It is good for my spirit to realize that my work is not the center of the universe.

The cars move past the window with a kind of poetry. The tempo is largely consistent, but the frequency ebbs and flows with a hidden rhythm. I can only hear the slightest rumble of the engines, with the sounds of the espresso machine and the gentle metaphysical pluck of the innocuous soundtrack above my head. The sounds of the cars lap at the large windows next to me like a tide.

I can sit here and focus. And think. And sort through the tasks of the day, and how those tasks shape the contours of my week, year, and life. What I choose to do shapes me forever. I am mostly pleased with my choices; only a few do I truly regret.

I wrote that sentence and then thought. I don't have any regrets. I am the handsome sum of my scars and triumphs.