The first thing I notice is the stillness, the whispers of transition as dawn creeps in. Everything feels light. I feel light. Things don’t feel real in these early hours. It’s a state of being in between, of existing in the past, present, and the future all at once. I lie in bed, looking out the window, seeing the night that just was. I appreciate the beauty of new light and the anticipation of the air thickening with noise and light. I crave these moments to myself. These pockets of time I think of as “before.” Before the phone rings, before the cars screams, before I’m meant to be a person. I like this time. The time of existing in a breath, of being untethered, where I don’t have to name the place or time, just be.

My morning begins with a tiptoe. I float out of bed and across my floor to the kitchen. I feel like the ballerina in a music box. The first sound of the day is the water from the kitchen sink. It rushes, the fastest motion yet. It is almost startling in its abruptness. I fill my pot and place it on the stove. There is something quaint about not having a kettle. It wasn’t always this way. My roommate recently left and instead of replacing her kettle, which had become a comforting constant in my routine, I switched to a pot. I like my pot. I may even love my pot. I use it for many things, but this pot isn’t the focus of the story. It is a character though, a bit of levity in my day. It brings me joy. A reminder that in the absence of what is expected or comfortable, lovely things can come. Absence doesn’t always equal loss. That is what this time, and this role of my pot as kettle, reminds me. That absence is where breath meets joy, where beauty grows. I boil the water and wait. I watch it turn slightly murky, then the soft grey gives way to angry bubbles that rise and attack. I smile; it’s time for tea. 

I turn off the heat, grab my pot, and carefully pour the water into my favorite blue mug. The teabag sits, waiting to be warmed by my homey pot water. It’s lovely, the transition. The forceful sink water shifts to the angry bubbles to the gentle stream into a still mug. My first sound of the day is strong and my first taste is herbaceous and slightly bitter. It feels like my first conversation of the day. The hissing of the bubbles and the gentle hum of happiness that escapes me as I take that first sip. I enjoy this moment, waking up to the day. Preparing my body to move within the in-between and greet the day. 

My morning green tea is my favorite pastime. It is my first task, my first need. It revives me. I sit and watch as the colors change. I see the black-blue turn to orange as I continue to sip my tea, letting it slowly cool in my hands. When my tea is done, I’m ready. I have my sneakers and shorts on ready for the day’s joy. And I’m out the door as the orange goes to yellow.