I woke up Wednesday morning with absolutely no intention of achieving greatness. I wasn’t going to exercise. I wasn’t going to meditate. I wasn’t going to journal about gratitude while drinking lemon water and watching the sunrise.
No, my goal was much more realistic.
Coffee. Pants. Survive.
I felt this was an achievable three-step program. I shuffled into the kitchen and started the coffee maker. While it brewed, I decided to unload the dishwasher because apparently I enjoy introducing unnecessary complications into otherwise manageable situations.
I opened the cupboard.
A plastic container fell out.
Not unusual. Tupperware has been trying to kill me for years.
I bent down to pick it up.
Three lids fell out.
I picked those up.
Another container fell out.
At this point, I realized the cupboard wasn’t disorganized.
It was defending itself.
“Fine,” I muttered. “Live like animals.”
I closed the door and backed away slowly.
Then I smelled coffee.
Wonderful, glorious coffee.
Except there was no mug under the coffee maker.
There was, however, an impressive lake of coffee spreading across the counter.
Apparently Step One of making coffee is put a cup underneath it.
Good to know.
I cleaned up the mess, made another coffee, and went to get dressed.
This should have taken approximately four minutes.
Instead, I spent ten minutes looking for the shirt I wanted before discovering I was already wearing it.
Excellent.
We were doing great.
I grabbed my keys and headed outside.
Halfway down the driveway, I realized I’d forgotten my phone.
Back inside.
Couldn’t find it.
Checked the kitchen.
Checked the bathroom.
Checked the bedroom.
Checked the refrigerator because apparently we’d reached the stage of the morning where all possibilities deserved consideration.
Nothing.
Then I heard music.
Coming from my pocket.
I stood silently in the kitchen for several seconds while my remaining brain cell packed its belongings and left without saying goodbye.
Fine.
Phone acquired.
Keys acquired.
Shoes acquired.
I was unstoppable.
I went outside again, got into the car, and realized I’d forgotten my coffee.
Back inside.
Coffee acquired.
Back outside.
Got into the car.
Forgot my lunch.
Back inside.
Lunch acquired.
Back outside.
Got into the car.
Forgot my sunglasses.
At this point I stared at the house.
The house stared back.
We both knew how this was going to end.
I went inside.
Got the sunglasses.
Returned to the car.
Sat down.
Closed the door.
And waited.
I wasn’t leaving yet.
Absolutely not.
I was giving my house one final opportunity to reveal whatever else I’d forgotten.
Thirty seconds passed.
Nothing.
“HA!” I yelled. “NOT TODAY.”
I started the car.
The gas light came on.
Of course it did.
Because apparently the universe had reviewed my morning and decided the plot needed another obstacle.
I drove to the gas station, filled up, and went inside to pay.
The cashier smiled.
“Having a good morning?”
I looked at him.
He looked at me.
I looked at the coffee stain on my sleeve.
Then I looked back at him.
“Phenomenal. I’m actually thinking about writing a motivational book.”
He laughed.
I didn’t.
Because somewhere deep inside, I knew the morning wasn’t finished with me yet.
I finally arrived at my destination, parked, grabbed my coffee, grabbed my lunch, grabbed my phone, grabbed my sunglasses, and triumphantly stepped out of the car.
Then I looked down.
I was wearing slippers.
Not cute slippers.
Not fashionable slippers that could potentially pass as shoes.
Fluffy.
Plaid.
House slippers.
I stood in the parking lot staring at my feet.
And suddenly everything became very peaceful.
Because sometimes you reach a point in life where there are no problems anymore.
There is only acceptance.
I took a sip of coffee, adjusted my sunglasses, and walked inside wearing those slippers like I had personally invented casual footwear.
Someone looked at my feet.
I looked directly at them.
“Don’t.”
They didn’t.
And that, my friends, is called setting healthy boundaries.
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