Today I took myself for coffee.
It wasn't a work meeting and there was no intention of being productive.
I used to work with someone who got me onto the idea. He called it a Personal Quarterly Offsite (PQO) and I doubt I'm the only person he successfully converted to the practice. But that is partially the reason for how I found myself sitting outside along a riverbank with a cup of coffee, a book, and a journal.
This is a place I like but that I don't get to drop by all that often. Which might actually add to the experience whenever I do get to come here. It's a small place in a sleepy Vermont town. There's a patio outside with a tiny row of tables beyond it that sit between some trees in the bend of a mellow river. What's more, there's a quintessential, old, New-England-style covered bridge right next to all of this.
So I'm sitting there at one of those few tables on the edge and I'm trying to take it in—this place. I want to leave the world behind for now and just be here. No work, no social media. Not even my computer. I'm not listening to music, either. It's just me, my coffee, a scone, a journal, and a book.
After lots of sips and slurps, and many pages filled with thoughts, I let out a big, long, deep breath. And then I wrote the following poem.
A scone full of mixed-berries by a river half-full of water.
A cup of coffee in hand and a covered bridge in sight.
A journal, a pen, a stone table below the trees.
A place to sit, to nip, to sip, to write.
A season, a reason, a breeze.
A thing not to barter.
A hint of light.
When's the last time you took yourself for coffee?
onward.
For more on this daily column and The MAP Year Project, read the backstory here. And if you know someone who'd appreciate this, pass it along.