I'M AT HIDDEN HOUSE COFFEE. San Juan Capistrano. CA. I live nearby. Sometimes I wonder if I'm really living. Is it living if I have anxt bubbling just below my bubbly exterior?
I'm not sure.
I am sure this is a new Friday tradition.
Get up.
Review my goals.
Ride over here.
Reflect.
Listen to the doves. Watch the people. Feel the air.
Today is an exceptional day. Sunny and 60s.
There are others here.
Some writing.
Others reading.
Some locals.
Many passing through.
Maybe I'll come every Friday at 8. Just to see who's who.
Maybe this is the start of a new path? It so hard to change directions. Life's inertia is strong. More years make it like cement. Drying. Curing into place.
This place.
This hidden coffee house could serve as a starting point for a new adventure. A change of environment. Not greener pastures. Different pastures. Who knows what might be hidden here? In this little slice of town. I might write a new story for TWB.
Maybe I should spend this sacred time listing the wonderful things that happened this week? The things I'm grateful for? That's the popular thing to do.
So I won't.
I'll write.
See what surfaces. Mull it over. Swill it around. Enjoy my thoughts.
Thoughts.
Surroundings.
Me.
Silence.
Who am I not to glory in the morning sun's rays?
Lighting the table.
Warming the trees.
Blooming our minds.
I will not miss another ride like this.
Toss the phone, the digital world.
Go analog, remain physical.
... time to pedal.
Never settle.