It starts with Rocky. Nudging my hand and sending little grumblers of "wake up mom."
He is always first. Before my coffee, before the day has any shape at all, Rocky is letting me know it is time. Tino and Dude follow, because they always do, and then we are all outside in the quiet of the morning doing what we do. Well, they do it outside. For the sake of the neighbors, I keep it inside.
By the time they let themselves back in and collect their treats, I am already at the coffee maker. And then we all land on the couch together. That is my favorite part of the day. The light coming through the front window, my coffee still hot, the sounds of the neighborhood just starting to stir outside. Sounds of life outside is one of my favorite things. I always connect it with a sense of community. Everybody doing their thing, all of us in it together. Nobody needs anything from me yet.
That is where I think.
Not in a formal way. Most often I am scrolling, reading, catching up with the world, watching a weenie dog video or two. But underneath all of that, something is organizing. I am looking at my day. I am feeling out what matters, what I want to accomplish, what I have to get done, what I hope for. My best thinking happens in the morning and I have learned to stop fighting that and just let it be true.
I am definitely a morning person. Not because mornings are romantic, but because that is when my brain works. That is when I can see clearly, plan honestly, and ask myself the harder questions. Who am I? What do I believe about myself? How do I want to show up today? What is the most real way to share what I am building? How do I take care of my mom, my dogs, my bills, and still make something beautiful by hand before the day is over?
It is great when I have clarity, but I do not always have the answers before I stand up from that couch. Most days I have a direction. And most days, that is enough.
That quiet does not leave me when I walk into my studio. It comes with me. It is in every stitch.
