The second cup of coffee sipped quietly as the morning light strengthens
and we stretch out the stiffness.
A leisurely decision about how to spend the day in creative pursuits
nary a worrying about time-clocks and meetings.
Freedom to choose when mundane tasks are done
anytime between now and never.
Shared memories with loved ones only to discover that we lived different
lives together at the same time and place.
Comfort within ourselves as days flow from solitude to companionship
with friends who fill us for more solitude.
Laughter over things gone wrong when once
we were filled with blame and shame.
Comfort in being mortal as faith promises that a worn out body will be
replaced with a new non-titanium being.
Favorite places and times indexed in our brain to visit when current
place and time become too complicated.
Bitter-sweet memories of people who influenced our minds and our lives
but who are no longer walking the earth.
Being who we always have been even as we are different in so many ways.
I’ve been a bit morose as of late. Maybe the noise from the condo above has rattled loose my brighter side. Whatever is going on, I’ve been fretting about roads I wasn’t able to travel, opportunities I couldn’t seek out… and time has run out. Last Sunday in church, the phrase that stuck from our public prayer of confession was, “We look back with regret, rather than with gratitude.” I tried writing an essay from the depth of my morose — hoping to write my way out. It didn’t work. This is my attempt at gratitude because I really do enjoy who I am and where I’m at. If I like where I’m at, the path here couldn’t have been that bad.