With a look that says my efforts are futile, Frodo , the oversized black and white cat who’s adopted me, refuses to move from between the pillows as I make my bed. “What’s the point?” he seems to ask. “You’ll only undo it later.”
I smile and scratch his belly until he rolls from the pillows, stretches and walks away as if to say, “Your bad.”
I make the bed.
I always make the bed.
It’s a thing for me. Like the pranayama, tapping and short meditation I do beforehand with the cat curled up behind my back. It’s comforting to have him there. Then I light a candle, say thank-you to the universe, make coffee and the time it takes to make the bed is a perfect timer for when it will be ready.
Ritual completed, I sit at the computer, warm beverage in hand and write. Everything for the next hour is perfect, especially when the ideas arrive. My ritual sets the table and opens the door for them. Generally they arrive early, as I’m scooping coffee into the French press or trying to count breaths in meditation. I never shoo them away. I ask them to wait until I finish preparing. They are welcome houseguests, undemanding and patient. And as we converse and share moments as the sun rises, I delight in the knowledge that this moment is mine with my laptop, the sunrise and the soft purr of the black and white cat by my side.
What’s your ritual? What makes your ideas arrive? What allows you to share a moment with you? What would make you get out of bed to light a candle against the dark and watch the sunrise?
Try making the bed.