At a coffee shop the other day, I sat alone with nothing but a latte in a brown cup, hands on the table top. It felt radical in the din of clangs and coffee pumps, conversations and phones. I remember a time not that long ago when having a coffee was an event, when sitting alone and looking at each other was the reason to be there in the first place.
I still go, look around, look for a set of eyes to meet mine, and enjoy my coffee. I pull out my notebook as I have done for decades now. Pull out a ballpoint pen and smooth the paper. It all meets in the moment: pen on paper without a plan, and everything around me still as exciting as it ever was.