I had a doctors appointment in NYC at the crack of dawn this morning. Usually, these things take far longer than you think they will, but astonishingly, mine took less than half the time I expected.
At first I thought I would just go straight to work, even though there was still an hour and a half before I had to be there. I figured that since I had already been awake for almost three hours, I might as well get a jump start on the to-do list that I left sitting on my desk last night.
But I didn't do that.
Instead, I took myself out to breakfast at a mostly empty diner on Seventh Avenue.
For an hour and fifteen minutes I drank coffee, ate eggs and toast, and read words. I looked out the window at the frenetic pace of Midtown Manhattan at rush hour and gave thanks that, for a little while longer, I wasn't a part of it. Even after I finished breakfast I lingered at the table with my book, enjoying the feeling of having nothing to do and nowhere to be.
When the clock struck nine I paid my check, left the diner, and made my way four blocks south to my office, energized by more than just the coffee. I knew what was waiting for me at the office, and how busy the day was likely to get. But I didn't mind. Those seventy-five minutes of watching the world go by while I stood still set the tone for my day.
It was going to be a good day.
Because it was a good morning.