I love coffee.
I enjoy tea on occasion, but mostly I wake up craving a hot cup of coffee - especially now that my nights are constantly interrupted by the cutest baby in the world.
Speaking of interrupted nights - that's the part of life I seem to have stumbled into . . . you know, the interrupted part.
Everything takes longer and somehow moves faster now. I spend my days and nights trying to figure out how my child can be changing so much, so constantly right in front of me. I spend all of my time doing things and somehow never seem to get anything done.
It's the process of allowing something to soak in a liquid until all of the flavor is extracted.
My coffee does this every morning.
I wait impatiently for the grounds to do something that will wake me up, make my day somehow better.
Everything I do now seems like a steeping process - especially writing.
I was waiting backstage with a drummer friend several weeks ago and he asked me if I was still writing songs. I said, "Yeah, but not very many."
I used to write at least one song a week. Maybe more than that on a good week. Now I'm lucky if I get one a month.
We are seasonal creatures. We move through phases and stages. We say this of children all the time - "It's just a phase. He'll grow out of it."
Last night I carefully laid my son in his crib close to midnight - he's been sick with his first cold and none of us are sleeping well.
All of a sudden I had words to a song. A new song.
I was not about to sit down at the piano! Who in their right mind would risk waking a restless baby?
So I wrote down the words and hummed it over and over to myself, trying to make it stick.
Today I got to work early and sat down at the piano to work it out. But parts of it had been lost.
Now it's just steeping away in my brain, searching for a melody and a bit of harmony.
Impatience is the enemy of creativity.
A schedule can't hurt, but rushing the formation of a half baked idea isn't going to do anything meaningful for anybody. I've learned this the hard way many times.
"There's a little bitty voice with a soul like the Thunder, and it meets little people when they think they're goin' under from a fear. If you can stop for a minute - quit the rush and the hurry, you can see that little voice talking sense to the worry you revere. Can you hear?"
We may not understand it right now.
But someday we will.
Teaching reminds me that I need the grace of a moment unknown. You never know what "today" will become. You never know what yesterday was . . . what it really was . . . until tomorrow has happened.
Today? Today I needed more than the grace of a new song to occupy my mind.
Today I walked straight into a minefield of things I can't even begin to voice or write about.
Today I need some patience with the fact that we don't have the capacity to understand all things.
All things in their time.