on detachment + wonder

how Spotify’s daylist taught me this valuable lesson

Today, it’s ‘journaling restorative tuesday early morning.’ Peter Sandberg’s “Motion” is softly playing from my phone, which I’ve just tucked behind my curtain so I can focus on writing.

I take a sip from the latte my husband and Rhaki brought me, their passionate debate about sitting down to breakfast slowly getting quieter as they make their way down the stairs.

I started my day like I usually do - a 10 minute Peloton meditation, making my bed, brushing my teeth and applying my sunscreen, and changing into my workout clothes. My intention to write morning pages at the kitchen table while my boys played with Legos and build puzzles. That plan quickly fell by the wayside, as the boys fired off a barrage of questions and statements.

“I don’t want to go for a walk on the trail.”
“My stomach hurts.”
”I don’t want an omelette. I don’t want crackers.”
“Will you snuggle me?”

After responding to them (you don’t have to, you should eat something, I can’t offer you anything else, get in here kid), my mom encouraged me to return to my room and write without distraction. She’s the one to credit with my daily writing habit - as a kid, she mandated that I write at least a page a day.

“You can write ‘I don’t like mom because she makes me do this’ over and over again if you wish, but you will thank me one day.”

She was right. She’s right about everything. Now that I’m ridden a manic-depressive wave into calmer waters, I can accept this with grace and with gratitude.

I pull my phone from its hiding place. “Hiddensee” by Daniel Selke, Sebastian Selke, and Ceeys is softly playing. I make a mental note to download this specific Daylist - one I’ll promptly forget.