Little House, Lots Of Joys: My Desert Days

There are mornings when I wake up and already know it’s going to be a down day. My mind feels scattered, and I don’t want to get out of bed. If I’m not careful, I’ll end up moving from the bed to the couch and staying there. I’ve learned not to ask too much of mornings like that. I start with one small thing. I make tea—usually something I blended the night before to bring a little clarity and keep me present. This morning, it was my Morning Awareness blend: one teaspoon hibiscus, one teaspoon tulsi, a small pinch of rose petals, two slices of fresh ginger, a pinch of mint, and a bit of citrus peel, steeped for seven to ten minutes. I step outside and stand there for a while—long enough to feel the air and let the desert sun settle in. That’s enough. I don’t build anything on top of it. I just get my footing before the day starts making noise. By midday, things begin to loosen. My energy drops, and my attention pulls in too many directions at once. Instead of trying to fix it, I sta...

 The best part of my day has quietly become this little morning ritual. I fill the bird feeders, give a drink to the plants that aren’t on irrigation yet, fill the bird bath and then I sit down with my coffee and watch what can only be described as total bird anarchy outside my window. Honestly, it’s better than TV. This is also the time of day when I feel things a little more deeply. I miss the people who aren’t here anymore. I catch myself thinking about my mom, and I like to imagine she’d approve of what I’ve made here. I can almost see her at the patio table—coffee in one hand, cigarette in the other—watching the sun come up behind the mountains like she’s got nowhere else to be. There are some hard things going on right now, and my default setting is to do what I’ve always done—hide. Not in any dramatic way, just that quiet, pull-the-covers-over-your-head kind of hiding. Like being a kid in the dark, convinced something’s lurking under the bed or in the closet. Of course, hidi...