I have a morning routine and a big part of that routine is my takeaway coffee. I’ve found that when you work from home, and that work involves sitting in a small room by yourself tapping on the computer doubting every word, a morning routine provides a spot of comfort. A morning routine creates a clear line between me leaving the house as a mother with three kids bound for school missing at least one school hat, a school note and a gold coin for a fundraiser, and returning home as a worker ready to sit down and, fingers crossed, be productive at a computer.
There are a few small activities that help build my line in the home/work sand. The house needs to be in some kind of order – beds made, kitchen clean – before I leave for school drop off. And on my return I need to pick up a takeaway coffee. It makes me feel like I’m part of the adult world. When my morning routine all comes together, just like a Year Four recorder ensemble of Michael Row Your Boat Ashore, I return from school drop off and go straight to my desk, take a sip of my coffee and begin writing. I know, I sound like a lot of fun to live with but I’ve always found mind games give me something to hang on to.
And that brings me back to my coffee. I have a dilemma. First world? Absolutely. I moved house at the beginning of the year and discovered a wonderful coffee place close by. The coffee is spectacular. I’ve been going for months and months most mornings after school drop off like a little lemming – and they haven’t got a clue who I am. I could have flown in from Iceland that morning. This is starting to get humiliating because not only do they never remember my unchanging order, the barista never, ever, says a word to me. I don’t want to have a huge deep and meaningful conversation with strangers, and I’m sure the same goes for people running a business, but my old coffee shop used to ask me how I was going and sometimes even, what I was up to.