My One Thing

For the past fifteen days or so, I have developed a new morning ritual.  In near silence, I put on my red raincoat, grab my purse and sneak out of my home.  Walking through the alley, I remember about half way to the coffee shop to look up at the sky.  And I breathe.  Grateful.  Remembering the sky, the earth, that I am alive.

I enter the coffee shop.  Now that the ladies know my ritual too, they say, "small coffee?  $1.49."  I pay in change.  I thank them and fill up my cup: half decaf, half regular (typically hazelnut, but sometimes I mix it up.)  I step outside, again noticing the sky (see photo) and take a seat.  I always sit at the same table and in the same chair; I tried to mix it up, but it didn't work.  I realized the power of ritual.  I take out my big journal and my orange pen.  I write the date and then begin.  I write and sip and write and sip.  These are "morning pages" (Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way) so there is the sweet relief that comes from no expectations.  I write, usually in small print, whatever is floating through my mind.  I write as much as I can and then I always end with this: a writing of gratitudes, three things that I can want to accomplish in the day, and an intention.  If time permits, I then take out a second journal: my "Sacred Work Journal."  I work on something connected to my goals and dreams: blog ideas, article or book ideas, workshop ideas, poems.  Then I take my half drunk coffee and head home.  Before I let it catch me, I have caught the day; seized it and set myself on my path with gratitude as strength and work already completed. 

This, right now, is my one thing.