A Cup of Tea

The other night as I crawled into bed I reached over and set my alarm, even though it was a Friday night. It was late and because I have not slept since I became a mother, I really have no business denying myself rest, but there is something about those morning hours that I sometimes find are more important than rest.

I crawl out of bed, and hold my breathe as the dogs barrel downstairs behind me. Then I wait to make sure I do not hear “mommy.” I let the dogs out and make coffee. I love watching the liquid turn from black to brown as I make it my own, and wait for the spoon to stop itself, and then I wrap my hands around my mug.

I sit with my knees pulled to my chest and stare outside. I never bring my phone, turn the television on, or look at my computer, but instead I listen to the sounds of the house. I listen to the heat click on and off, the branches scratch the windows, and I try and just simply be.

There are days I clutch my cup even when it is empty and think back to when I spent all of my time in a coffee shop in Southern California. My apartment at the time was not conducive to writing papers or studying for exams, so I would relocate. Yet, while writing papers in this coffee shop I learned why these morning hours are so special.

People used to come and sit alone reading the paper with their tea next to them, or sit clutching cups the way I do, and then suddenly stand and greet someone with a smile. Some would sit across from one another clutching their cups while whispering to one another. Some would even hold their mugs and smile at computer screens as their loved ones sat in rooms far away. Then there were those few who would sit and watch the rain drops slide down the windows perhaps daydreaming about better times.

However, despite who it was they all found comfort in a quiet place and a cup of tea. They all understood by holding a warm cup they would feel so at ease they would be able to talk to old and new friends, to be honest, vulnerable, and connected. They all knew these cups were simply invitations to speak without thinking.

So, tired or not, coffee or tea, I will always sit by window waiting for the world to wake up.