Walk to School

Each morning, I feel rebirthed– I am a child again. I wake up excited for my day; I am up before the sun rises, I brush my teeth, I make my bed, I get dressed, and I brush on sparkly eyeshadow. The only difference now is that I am ten years older. 

I sit down at the two-person kitchen table for breakfast; I pour myself some of Angelica’s floral yet nutty balanced coffee, and I prepare my pan con tomate that she left out for Barbara and I the night before. I grab my tote bag and I bundle up for the cold weather. I lived this similar morning routine during my elementary school years. 

Once I lock the front door, I am the oldest I have ever been. My heeled boots click as I walk down the sidewalk, and I see so many individuals begin their days– other young adults on their walks to work, cafe shop owners opening their cafes, and parents walking their children to school– and I see myself in all of these people. I see independence, drive, and love. 

I am surrounded by so many individuals beginning their day, and yet I am in solitude. It is the only time of day I truly have to myself (besides my runs). These thirty minutes are so refreshing.

Seeing mothers and fathers hold their childrens’ hands as they walk them to school immediately brings me back to my hometown, holding my mom’s and dad’s hands. They walked me up to the door, kissed me goodbye, and I ran off to my friends. I am seeing myself in these kids. 

Seeing adults converse over cups of espresso and cappuccino in the dimmed light outside of window-cafes is wholesome. No matter what time of day it is, who they are with, and what they have to do, they take time to enjoy each other’s company before the day begins. They laugh and they share stories, even if it is just for a few minutes. It reminds me to calm down, take a few minutes, and be present. Not everything is as serious as I make it out to be.

I am a morning person. And these are my mornings, approximately from 7:30am-9am here.