Last fall, my company was generous enough to offer a class changing the way we think about our careers: This was a week-long seminar dedicated to finding our whys. Why do we want to become successful? We know it can be something more than money. Why do we want to schedule our own hours, dictate our office regimen? After a full day of goal-setting, I know what my life had started to lack: the quiet weekend breakfast.
Four years ago, when Bryan and I bought our home, we sort of accidentally fell into the routine of Saturday and Sunday mornings of quiet time. Always the first to wake, I’d let the dogs out, get them fed, open the windows, light a smelly-good candle or two, and put on the kettle for a giant pot of French press. Bryan would wake, pad downstairs in his jammies, and we’d make a bigger breakfast than we had time for during the week. Sometimes there were waffles and berries, cream and syrup alongside, and other days it was more simple: fried eggs and toast. We’d eat at the kitchen table, quiet, mindful. More often than not, there was Yo-Yo Ma or Vince Guaraldi on Pandora, or we’d tune into that week’s edition of Wait, Wait… on NPR. It seems simple.
When my dad died and my mom moved in, it’s as if we’d hit the panic button in trying to take care of her. Sometimes, mornings were spent nursing her awake, or sleeping in after her health kept all of us up at night. A year ago, when she passed, we just stayed stuck in those habits, sleeping in, rushing off to work, or making weekend mornings as simple and unplanned as the breakfast the rest of the week.. Yogurt and a laptop or a bowl of cereal and Netflix took over on Saturdays and Sundays, too.
When I was discussing my goals with my manager, Betsey, I was almost embarrassed to tell her that one of my wants- in the business year of 2018 and beyond- was to bring back our quiet time. I realized how much I missed Bryan winking at me over a cup of coffee, and how long it had been since we tried out a new breakfast idea, like the Brussels sprout and potato hash I’ve recently grown so fond of.
I’m not blind to the fact that the man and I are fortunate: our lives allow us to take the time off on the weekends that we want. We aren’t sleeping until noon after working third shift or waking up early to shuffle children off to weekend activities. We’ve worked hard to get to where we are, and I think, sometimes, we’re so obsessed with staying here that we forget to sit down, breathe, and be grateful.
Our weekend breakfasts allow us the time and the quiet to reflect. Even if there’s no conversation, just the dripping of rain outside or the whoosh of cars as they drive past on Breckenridge Lane, I think we’re both thinking the same thing: We’re lucky.
This quiet space, with omelettes and glasses of milk on our scruffy, old table is our church. It’s where we can relax and be mindful of ourselves, our families and each other. It had become so easy to forget to sit still, to find peace, and forget how important it is to take a breath and relax. It’s what I was missing, and I’m so glad it’s back.
** this post is not sponsored in any way. all thoughts and opinions are my own **
** photos by kyle lueken **
