The Kitchen Table

I sat down at the kitchen table instead of making my way to the computer desk this morning. It changed the course of my day.

A long time ago, in a far away land (before I was addicted to checking emails, blogs, Facebook and updating my own blogs) I used to sit down at the kitchen table with my morning coffee.

Sunday mornings were especially memorable because I used to open up our 'Sunday Sun', read it at my leisure, then work on the crossword. I would sit down and (hand) write a weekly letter to my mom. I may sit and work on my budget. Or make lists. Sometimes, I would simply dream out loud on a piece of paper in a scribbler.

I kept many of these notations, hopes and dreams. It amazed me just how often the 'impossible dreams' became my reality. Bit by bit, year by year, dollar by dollar, goals were achieved. There is something very powerful about putting your dreams on paper. They become tangible. I think your brain works harder to connect the dots and pursue your dreams when you physically 'draw a picture'. On paper and in your mind.

Time has a way of slowly shifting those little habits. Priorities change. Routines shift. You adapt and get things done in a different way. Eventually what you are presently doing bears only a faint resemblance to that which has served you well in the past.

My early morning activities have varied from walking the dog, to watching an episode of "Little House on the Prairie, to delivering papers, to exercising, to writing, to (presently) sitting down at the computer and frittering away two hours without blinking an eye.

I try to write every morning and spill my early morning thoughts into something readable. I still write my mom's weekly letter but I am in such a hurry to get it written (that task seems to have shifted to a Monday-chore), that I type it up on the computer (I chose a very nice 'handwritten' font to make it more personal though), print off and send a few blog posts along with it to thicken the envelope. Mom still has a personal letter in the mail but it isn't quite the same as a handwritten letter (except it is much more legible).

As I sat still and hand-wrote a letter to my mom this morning, it felt like I had come home again. From there, I started writing down (and illustrating) my dream-renovation list. I could have spent a few more hours at the kitchen table but I had people that I wanted to see and things that had to be done. So my fun had to end all too soon.

My scribbler remains on the table. Dreams have been documented. I already feel myself breaking down the dreams into manageable segments. I feel like I rerouted my thinking this morning. I have turned my impossible dreams into a plan. It may take years to achieve. But anything is possible if you simply keep putting one foot in front of the other and taking one, small forward step at a time.

I miss sitting at our kitchen table. I think that I will try to make a date with it more often.

Look around you. What enjoyable routine have you eliminated from your life? What is one little thing that brought you a small piece of happy without spending a penny or even leaving the house? It is often the most obvious of things that become impossible to see, within the clutter of our busy lives.

Slow down. Sit still. Dream ... it could not only change your day. It could change your life. One small step at a time.