Sunday Mornings: Elevated Recalibration.

The creative space that is Sunday morning is sacred.

Nearly every Sunday, George lets me sleep in until about 6:30 a.m. without stirring. By then, she’s almost always found her way into a “little spoon” position as I sleep on my left side.

“Good morning, George,” I’ll say.

That’s her permission slip to rise. Followed by a biiiggg stretch in a downward-dog-like pose toward me. At least we start the day with her knowing I’m the alpha. It lasts only a few moments, of course. Right up until she’s been fed in some form.

We putter to the kitchen. I grind beans and get the Moccamaster humming. Collagen, peptides, superfood creamer, half and half, and a splash of pumpkin spice creamer (hey, it’s organic).

Then we settle into the living room. George eats a cookie shaped like a chicken pot pie. I reach for my iPad and open the New York Times... Games, Style, Real Estate, Tech, Magazine... the key content, in that order.

My brain starts tossing around ideas: clips of scenes, one-liners, feelings that ought to be shared so others don’t feel quite so weird. Things that need to be written. Created.

Then I head over to Pinterest, where I’ve curated my feed and trained the algorithm to show only the elegant, the elevated, and the aesthetically intentional - as it should be. An elevated sense of life.

There are few errands to do this day, because I keep Sunday commitments free.

I think about the week ahead and attempting to brush off the first flickers of anxiety, promising myself I won’t let anyone or anything drain me.

(But it’s hard. The world hums with a continuous state of chaos. Sometimes I worry that when I’m not stressed, I’ve simply adapted to it... And that tension has become my steady state.)

And yet, on Sunday mornings, the light is always flattering. Everything looks like it’s been touched by good taste.

Sunday mornings are my recalibration... A soft reset in a world that’s constantly asking for urgency. Here, with George snoring and coffee in hand, I remember that being calm doesn’t mean being unproductive. Sometimes it’s just proof that I’ve finally found my rhythm.