Truth be told, it’s safe to say I covet a slow and quiet start to the day.

A perfect morning might be described thus:

Sitting on a stool in my kitchen, the morning light spilling into the room through the window over the sink. The stained, hardwood floor is cool on the bottoms of my bare feet.

A Baroque symphonic piece sounds from the radio in the corner counter, nestled behind the idle coffee maker.

Other than the radio and birds’ periodic song outside, the house is quiet. My kids are still asleep on the weekend morning. My mind slowly comes to the day; I sip cold brew, considering the chores of the day.

The day is mine to meld and make what I will. This perceptive and related calm, quiet joy is for sure the very essence of what I want more of in my life.

Mind you, I’m happy to work and still have a lot in the tank to give; the trick I’m still refining is my sense of agency and personal priority even as I maintain employment that generates sustaining income flow.

Sitting on this stool in the kitchen as the day slowly begins, it all seems possible; it’s that soft, glowing hope that I seek to sustain. And calm. And peace.

Creating and nurturing and sustaining peace, thus I say,

GOOD.