This morning...

...I checked my watch--7:40am. Well, actually, it said 1:40am because I have yet to change it from the United States’ EST. And I think I might just keep it that way for the time being because it’s often comforting to know what time it is at home.

It did take me a moment in my sleepy stupor to add 6 hours to the time and realize that 1) I had been lying in bed for 40 minutes and 2) I needed to be out the door in 15 minutes time to make it to the train. I quickly added up what sacrifices I would have to make to my morning routine to stay in bed for just a few more moments. I decided to skip eye cream, bring my breakfast to go, and settle for leaving my hair in the exact half-up top knot I slept in. I never claimed to be glamourous.

I’m not always ecstatic to catch the 8:08am train to get to school every day, but nonetheless, I take a sigh of relief as we round the first corner each morning, revealing a perfect view of the sun, rising over the ocean out of the right-side window. This moment is certainly a prayer.

Last Tuesday, I woke up at 8:04am, quickly realizing I would not be making it to the 8:08 train that morning. Luckily the train comes every 15 minutes, so I did not have much to worry about, but BOY was I in a tizzy. You see, I can be really good in a crunch time situation--IF I am planning on it. The number of times I have packed the morning of a substantial travel day is ridiculous and impressive. Somehow it’s the planned stress that makes it OK.

Last Tuesday, however, I was definitely not feeling it and certainly was not planning on it. I skipped more than just eye cream and a hairdo. I darted out of bed and grabbed my coffee and backpack and booked it to the train. I was convinced I was going to be late and that it was going to be this whole big mess during only the second week of school, but when I got to the train stop at the plaza by my apartment, I saw half of my first class waiting for the 8:24am train. They kindly reassured me that the 8:24 train gets us to campus at about 8:52, giving me 8 minutes for the 3-minute walk it takes to get to my 9am class from the university train stop. Oh. Right.

Well, at least now I know if I wake up too late for the first train, I’ve got some wiggle room.

But it’s not just the sunrise which makes me savor the early train rides. It’s also the chance to shove my face into a book for 30 minutes at the start of my day! I’m not the best with people in the morning, but I am great with books. I was a bit disgruntled by the amount of people on the 8:24am (the day I woke up late), and it was more difficult to escape into the world of my book ( Every Note Played by Lisa Genova; I have finished two books since we last spoke) with the added noise.

Therefore, despite my lack of sleep and desire to remain in bed for as long as possible, I’ve been sticking to the early train for the sunrises and prime opportunity for a hot date (in the morning?) with a book.

I was especially tired this morning because I went to Barcelona this weekend--my first of, hopefully many, weekend excursions. Two of my girlfriends from my program and I took a train Thursday night and were there through Sunday morning. We did a tour of Old Town Barcelona, a Gaudi and modernism tour (including a mesmerizing glance at Sagrada Familia!), enjoyed a flamenco show, experienced the allure and artistry of Picasso’s work at the Picasso Museum, walked up the beach, caught a sunset on the water, indulged at the Chocolate Museum, drank many cups of coffee, were blown away by the “Mercado de la Boqueria”, and ate enough tapas and paella to go around… many times. Amen!

I’m sure I left something out of the long list of things we accomplished in just a few short days, but I think we’ll live.

When trying to reflect on this weekend, I was having trouble coming up with a grand takeaway or lesson. It should have been easy, right? I mean, we did practically everything you could possibly fit into two days in a city. But perhaps that makes it harder to decide. I don’t know.

So, I did what I do best, and flipped to the Notes app on my phone—a digital journal of random thoughts, grocery lists, favorite restaurants, baby names, to-do lists, half-written poems, and God knows what else. I accidentally kept a running list of a handful of sights and sounds I gathered while in Barcelona and returned to it, vividly picturing each scene in my head.

There were cigarettes and skateboards… everywhere.

There was a copy of Mary Oliver’s Dog Songs in Spanish in a queer bookstore.

There was an unhoused man brushing his teeth on a street corner.

There was a baby girl discovering sand for the first time.

There was an unhoused man feeding his three dogs near a busy metro stop.

There were two little girls laughing and rolling in the sand together.

There was a group of friends singing and playing guitar over dinner on a restaurant’s outdoor patio.

And so much more.

These moments have taught me more about prayer (see previous newsletter, "An unlikely prayer").

To notice, to be still, to give thanks.

To be curious and free of judgement.

To savor and commune.

To realize that, perhaps, prayers are not something I do, but they are something given to me.

Prayers are the things in the world around me, waiting for my attention, my noticing, my stillness. The smile of a passing stranger or the sunrise on the pesky 8:08am train to school—offerings to our imaginations. Favors. Gifts.

Come, let us receive. Let us pray.

Ciao for now.

All my love,

Cate

from January 31, 2022