The 5th

Today is a perfect example of bad mornings that turn into whimsical days. I woke up far later than planned -- disheveled and still muddled by a cryptic dream. I had chores lined up that I'd already delayed for too long. It was a morning like so many mornings that I had pinned as an unproductive start.

Barely coherent I stumbled downstairs in a graceful attempt at functionality, but probably appeared more like a disabled walrus. Sometime between breakfast and experiencing a routine "WHAT IS MY LIFE" mental implosion, I was on my way to the grocery store. After feeling somewhat productive from shopping, I head over to yoga, kind of. In a sudden impulse I drove right by the studio. I decided that today was not a "yoga day," whatever that could possibly mean. Wasn't the whole reason I began yoga in the first place, to calm down and workout? Rather than burning calories, I devoured a raisin danish. 

Surges of guilt came over me -- I skipped yoga, was behind on my schedule and was now shoving my face with carbs. There is no better motivator than guilt, so I was quickly on my way to the gym to work it all off. I never quite know why I resist these workouts, as I'm typically happy as a clam* once they're done. 

On a stroll through a nearby eclectic neighbourhood, I passed indie coffee shops and garden patios; a grey-haired man and little girl hand-washing a 1920 vintage truck; a street musician playing her trumpet to Edith Piaf's 'La Vie en Rose.' And with my FREE iced americano (hurray for super nice baristas), I lounged on the sunny patio in a semblance of Parisian life. For the first time in a while, I experience a rush of creativity; a need to write. That leaves me here, still sitting outside this cafe, the French melody long gone and writing on some napkins with a borrowed pen, since I lack any of the proper devices. 

With only a few moments my entire being is suddenly at ease. I'm the sort that needs routine, order and a schedule. I am a list-maker extraordinaire and a nut job workaholic. But in all my experiences there is no schedule or list for these perfect instants in life. They often throw you off guard and push everything in (what feels like) the wrong direction, but at least today, I'm not minding it at all. 

*Side note: My mum recently asked me why individuals say "happy as a clam," and how one could possibly know if a clam were happy or depressed. Obviously I had never given it much thought, it was just something I was always saying. It was interesting though because I pieced together that a clam is passive and so, he must be generally content. And given my crazy and emotional roller-coaster of an existence, I thought: yes, being sane and content would be a perfect state to be.