I tried to start the morning with greater intention. This meant waking naturally (no alarm) at six, which is a nice departure from the groggier seven, eight, or nine am wake ups after a late night at the bar. This meant making the bed, and opening the blinds. This meant meditating for ten minutes (give or take) after getting situated on the sofa in the gray dark of my living room. This meant focusing my meditation on the sounds of the trash truck which, coincidentally, takes about ten minutes to rumble, clank, and bang its way down my street – the hissing squeak of the breaks, the hydraulic piston sounds, the incessant banging of things tumbling in its metal hull. When I wasn’t focused on the sounds of the garbage truck, I focused on my breathing and the various itches and aches in my body. This meant after meditating, opening the living room blinds to the flat gray sky that is so common on June mornings here in the Bay.
As I made the coffee, I reminded myself that I’m going to be intentional about my day, or at least my morning. I’m going to try to focus on only one thing at a time. Make the coffee and think about making the coffee. Make the waffles and think about making the waffles. Except, when I open the freezer, I’m reminded that the last two times I was at the store, they were out of the large boxes of waffles. The slightest feeling of not quite aggravation (inconvenience) swept over me – I wonder if there’s a shortage. Why aren’t there any big boxes of waffles?
I listen to the loud hum of the toaster oven. The cheap toaster oven I bought a few months ago to replace the nicer one I had before (dead coils) makes more noise as it heats up. It’s smaller too – things like pizza don’t fit in it quite as well. I think maybe I’d like to go back to the nicer one, but don’t want to be wasteful. I’m locked into this one for now. I wasn’t just being cheap in buying this one, I was also trying to follow my principles and buy from my local hardware store (as opposed to Amazon or Target). My local hardware store only carried this model.
As the waffles heat up, I catch up on a few of the poem-a-day poems that I get in my email. Then ding, and I have to get up. Plate, waffles, butter, syrup. I briefly think it would be funny if in trying to be focused I lost focus and reached for the bottle of wine instead of the syrup. I remind myself about being intentional. I break this attempt at being deliberate when I multitask – shoveling waffles in my mouth while reading, and eventually writing. Being deliberate would have meant focusing on the food, taste, smell, chewing. I think about how other people, more productive or successful people, start their days. I don’t have a routine. I feel like I might benefit from one. Daily affirmations, daily intentions, blocks of time dedicated to one task at a time. Half an hour of exercise or stretching or a walk or writing. I rinse the plate, the knife, the fork. I pour my first cup of coffee and move over to the sofa. I should have had a plan. I have no plan.
I struggle to be deliberate for long stretches of time. My mind wanders a lot – more than it used to. I can no longer imagine living an entire day parceled out and buttoned down (or is it buttoned up). My morning slips away from my attempts at being purposeful or mindful or singularly focused.
With my first cup of coffee, I resume reading. This time, it’s a book I bought at the quaint bookstore while on a hike last week at Stinson Beach: Robert Hass’s The Apple Trees at Olema. Hass is a Bay Area poet. He writes about the woods in which I hike, the buckbrush, the dusty road by the fire station. I’d swear I know these places. He writes about the fog that hangs over the Bay in the summer. He writes about a lot of other things, but its these things with which I’ve become most familiar. They’re a part of my everyday life. I switch over to another Bay Area poet, Kim Addonizio. After a few poems, I’m once again confronted with my own inadequacy. Those memories that poets use as jumping off points? I don’t seem to have them. Once again, I’m asking myself, “where have I been all of my life?” What have I been doing if I haven’t been paying attention? What can I do now that I am paying better attention? Am I?
I search and I remember the time that my daughter first tried to ride her first bicycle. I had hastily put it together and as she tried to peddle off from the steps by our front door, one of the training wheels fell off and she tumbled into the grass. This became the poem I’d try to write this morning. I’m pretty sure her tears were more from the surprise of the fall than anything else. And of course, this is a metaphor for parenting – all those times we’ll come up short or unintentionally disappoint… and all of the times we’ll also pick our kids back up. Life wobbles and tumbles, spills us here and there. If we’re lucky, we get soft landings. If we’re lucky we forgive and forget.
When I get up to pour my second cup of coffee, I look down at my plain white t-shirt and remember that in the dream I had last night, I was at my daughter’s wedding – though it was very different from the actual wedding she had just a few weeks ago. This time, she had planned out different group activities for everyone. We were to move from station to station. Some of them required changing into athletic gear or who knows what – there might have abeen a swimming activity. When I was scheduled to have a Hebrew lesson (that was one of the activities), I tried to change back into my wedding attire and noticed a stain on my white shirt. This is what I was thinking of at the coffee maker – no stain.
As I write this, I think, “man I’m pretty shitty at the this focus thing.” Except maybe that’s the morning routine I’m supposed to have. One in which I jump from reading a poem to journaling, back to reading, back to writing. At the very least, I’ve held off on scrolling social media and I’ve avoided checking email or reading the news. Unfettered and mentally wandering.
The other day I was reading about Dave Eggers who writes from his sailboat docked near the base of the Golden Gate Bridge. He’ll spend an entire day writing – with occasional breaks for nature walks. I’m jealous of Eggers. Not just because he’s a talented and successful writer, but because he has both the time and finances to spend his days writing and because he’s able to contribute to and participate in the arts scene here in San Francisco. Not only did he start the nonprofit 826 Valencia, but he’s converting a pier to an artists’ space. When asked what I’d do with my time if I were retired, it’s those types of things: create spaces, build community, take nature walks, write. I’d like to be more involved or integrated into the city, but don’t know how. This nags at me.
Yesterday, I watched a video of a commencement speech given by the late poet Andrea Gibson. They had to record the speech because they had just completed chemo, and their immune system wasn’t strong enough for them to travel and give it in person. In a lot of ways, the speech reminded me of the one I like from David Foster Wallace (“This Is Water“). In essence, life is about choosing to pay attention. When one pays attention, one becomes more compassionate, understanding, empathetic, and forgiving. This is why I wanted to be deliberate with my morning and/or day. The other take away I got from Gibson’s speech was to pursue the things that scare us. Admittedly, this advice brought on a slight feeling of shame. I’ve been living my life comfortably. I don’t take many risks and I don’t venture too far from my comfort zone. Moreover, by playing it safe, I feel as though I’ve been wasting this precious time that I’ve been given. I could do better or more or…. what that looks like, I’m not sure.
It’s later now. The coffee is finished and I feel like I should be getting on with it: a run, a shower, some work, and some job searching. Even if I wanted to dedicate the better part of my day to writing, I’m not sure I have the attention span or the discipline to do it with any fidelity. A more self-forgiving me would say, “baby steps.” An hour or two of intention/attention isn’t a bad start.