Searching for a Reason to Step Outside
I didn’t feel unhappy exactly. Just untethered.
Friends from work were busy with their own lives. Neighbors nodded politely but kept moving. I found myself watching the clock more than I ever had when I was employed, waiting for something to happen without knowing what that something was.
It wasn’t trendy or loud. Just a narrow room with a few tables, the smell of fresh coffee, and soft music playing in the background.
I ordered a simple drink and sat near the window.
That was it. Nothing special happened. No conversation worth remembering. No sudden insight.
And yet, the next day, I went back.
The Comfort of Repetition
I told myself I went for the coffee, but that wasn’t really true. What I wanted was the structure.
I liked walking the same route each morning. I liked sitting at the same table. I liked ordering the same drink without having to think about it.
In retirement, days can blur together if you let them. That small café routine gave my mornings a clear beginning. It gave me a reason to get dressed and step outside, even when the weather wasn’t inviting.
After a while, the young waitress behind the counter started to recognize me. She learned my name. She remembered my order before I said it.
Sometimes she’d mention the weather. Other times she’d ask if my joints were bothering me when it was cold. The exchanges were brief, but they felt genuine. Not rushed. Not forced.
I didn’t realize how much I valued those few minutes of acknowledgment until they became part of my routine.
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