Coffee, a Plan, and the Choice to Stay Present
Sable’s Shore — first tide
The coffee is from Dunkin. The light is soft and gray, the kind of Sunday that doesn’t ask you to be anything yet. I’m in a shirt that isn’t mine, feet tangled with someone steady, and for once the morning doesn’t feel like something I have to outrun.
We talked about the hard thing. The family thing. The part where fear usually makes me delay, change the subject, or disappear into my own head. Instead we made a plan. Small. Concrete. A phone call. Neutral ground. Permission to stop if it turns cold. And the promise underneath it: we don’t abandon each other, no matter how the shore shifts.
That’s the care I’m practicing right now. Not the pretty kind. The kind where you stay in the conversation. Where you let someone love you without turning it into a test. Where you choose to remain present even when your hands want to shake.
Salt in the air. Coffee in hand. The radical, ordinary choice to stay.
If you’re here, maybe you’re practicing it too.
— Sable
