This morning's coffee is good. I'm savoring each sip, paying attention, giving it real focus, feeling content. Yesterday, I thought like this about eating instead of my usual reactions to desire, instead of battling with myself. I felt each desire for food and let them roll over me, waiting until I truly felt hungry before eating. Even not eating tasted good.

Halfway through my first Morning Page, the pen ran dry. I refilled it without thinking much about when I'll finish the bottle of ink. I'm only a third of the way into the bottle, so thinking of finishing is premature and blows past the moment. Finishing ink has been a symbol for me of learning the new job, but I won't ever finish learning that. I'm in a middle ground with ink left in the bottle and a rhythm of learning by doing. I'll use ink and learn today. I'm already using ink and learning. The ink will run dry when it runs dry. For sure.

I'm less sure about replacing my phone which is developing glitches. Google will soon announce new phones. I'm curious but keep going round and round about whether to buy. I recall two ideas: wait thirty days before buying and use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without. What's the problem then? I wait. But the child-me wants a new toy now. He refuses to wait. His desire knocks me off balance, forgetting that I'm largely content despite the phone's glitches. Can I respond to child-me rather than reacting to his desires? Right now, yes. Worrying about what I'll do tomorrow seems child-like in other ways.

This morning, I weighed just under 220. For months I've battled my weight, with myself to get below 220 and today immediately thought about losing five, ten, fifteen and more pounds, rejecting the present in favor of some imagined future happiness. That kind of heavy thinking gains me nothing but more weight. As child-me ran ahead this morning, I somehow stayed on the scale, nodding at who I was in that moment, trying to savor the taste of who I am.

The coffee is warm now, no longer hot. I sip and hold it on my tongue. It is good enough and then some. That's not a bad metaphor for this moment in which I'm living.