Today

 I am sitting in a coffee shop writing. It's been a really long time since I've done that, probably too long. There is something about a change of scenery, about being out of my house, about not having anything to do but write, that really makes a difference. 

This morning I woke up with a headache, a headache probably caused by a combination of stress, the glass and a half of wine I had last night, and a general predisposition to headaches. I woke up, I made the coffee, I packed the lunches. I woke the children -- they're 8 and 11 now, did you know that? -- woke them, cajoled them into eating breakfast, into getting dressed. Got in the car, drove them to school. Came home, and looked at my husband watching a telecon on the couch and said, I need to go lie down.

And I slept for 3 hours. 

And now here I am, sitting in a coffee shop at 1:30 in the afternoon, writing. In an hour and a half I need to be back at the school, in the pickup line, waiting to re collect my children. But right now, it is just me, this latte, and my words.

I worry that I don't do enough. I worry that my worth is tied to things that are beyond my capacity. I worry about not working, about not creating things that matter, about not leaving any kind of mark on the world. 

But today, I napped for three hours and I'm having a latte and writing in a coffee shop. Today I'm taking care of the human who is, after all, a prerequisite to any act of creation or productivity. Today I am, in little ways, finding my way back to me.