In defense of having the usual
It’s hard to find time for yourself in a big city. You’re either the person crying on your stoop or the stranger walking by. But if you don’t find time and places for peace and quiet, you might get swallowed by the noise.
Julia Cameron talks about artist dates as part of her regimen for a creative life. The idea is “a once-weekly, festive, solo expedition to explore something that interests you. The Artist Date need not be overtly “artistic”– think mischief more than mastery.”
As much as I believe in going out in search of inspiration, I also value purposefully calming things down. Quietly resetting. If you so happen to bring a journal or doodle on a napkin, great, but you can also stare out the window or eavesdrop on your neighbors.
I’ve found quiet in the ritual of taking myself out for breakfast at my neighborhood diner on Fridays. The coffee isn’t good, but it isn’t bad either, and the waitresses aren’t outwardly annoyed at you, but, hey, they don’t got all day for chit-chat neither. In other words, it’s perfect.
There are no frills or specials and the only expectation is that today’s visit will closely follow the last one. It’s a consistency that exists precious few other places, and I’m grateful the hermetic seal is still holding up. After a week of curveballs and overstimulation, the repetition is welcome.
I have a couple cups of coffee, I see what the alarmists in the New York Post have to say about the Knicks and the fall of our republic, and I escape the bubble of my home for a spell. It’s not a phone-free zone, but I find myself getting my entertainment from my own thoughts and the conversations of other diners that float by me.
It’s by having the usual that I’m able to escape my usual for a bit. And that’s a pretty good return on $10.85.
Perfect length, perfect tone, perfect subject.