I overslept, ran out of oat milk, and forgot the appointment I had written on a paper calendar. By eight-thirty I had already decided the day was broken.
Then I opened the window. The air was cool, the neighbour’s cat was sitting on the wall like a tiny landlord, and I remembered I had nowhere urgent to be.
I made toast instead of the breakfast I had planned. I sent one honest email instead of five polished ones. The world did not punish me for choosing the smaller version.
A good morning is not always a smooth one. Sometimes it is just the moment you stop arguing with the day you have.