I'm sitting at Barnes & Noble, going on four hours here.
Tuesdays are my productive day. I check things off my to-do list for most of the afternoon.
(It looks like I'm doing a lot, but really, it's just an effort to avoid the big paper I have to write and the questions swirling around in my mind.)
For a while, last year mostly, I had a ritual when I'd come here. I would walk around with my backpack weighing on my shoulders, wandering and collecting books that looked interesting. I'd stack them high and carry them to a table, but never opening them until I'd done at least three school things, and then I'd take a study break and flip through the pages.
They were never heavy books. I'd read a chapter or two, look at pages about photography or writing. I'd catch myself not even focusing on what was on the page, instead letting my mind wander and rest from the daily routine of homework and hard life-things.
Once, I worked my way through a book on dating. I refused to buy it because I came here so often, I might as well just read it when I'm here. I read a chapter each time, and for a season even wrote down answers to the questions in the back. I look back now and laugh. I remember the different people I had in mind at each chapter (there were at least three different guys), and I shake my head. None of that worked out. And I'm okay with that.
But now that routine has changed. It's slowly shifted. Not fully different, yet not the same either. (It resembles the past year in that way.)
Now, I come in at 2:05 pm with my double-shot-dirty-chai-latte that I bought at the Starbucks down the street. (I could've gotten it here, but then I couldn't earn stars. And we all know how vital stars and free drinks are. Also, I don't think I trust baristas at a Barnes & Noble cafe.)
I have a specific chair in between the cookbooks and the medical manuals, where I sit and read until I'm almost finished with my coffee.
Today, I found a book about tacos and it made me really happy.
I also read a book on creativity and spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to get a picture for Instagram.
And then, with a resigned sigh at the last drops of espresso, I move up to the front. I sit at the table by the big window and turn to where I can't really see anyone inside the store.
I start to do homework, but I stop not long after I realized that I don't have half of the things I need to take a quiz or finish a lesson plan.
So instead of working, I watch the outside. I watch the birds fly and the people come in and out.
There's the woman who came in with her son; they sat at the table behind me and he bumped me with his coat, carelessly flinging it over the back of his chair. She told him to apologize, and he did. I smiled.
Several people came and went quickly, in for a book or a magazine. Many people stayed longer. There were two men beside me who seemed to be working on plans for building a house; I learned about the perfect ceiling height. They left, and a while later two women replaced them. A mother and daughter, maybe? I'm not sure. At that point I had my earbuds in and was focused back outside the window at the birds still swirling outside.
My routine here has always been a balance. A balance between work and rest, between reading and writing. It's a balance between seeing information everywhere (books! internet! music! people watching! magazines!) and isolating what brings rest and refreshment. It's where I find balance in myself too; I can enjoy being alone for a while, until friends join me here later.
I've decided that I like Tuesdays. Tuesdays are freeing. They're balanced. They're productive.
I've also decided to stay until my computer or my phone dies, whichever comes first. Unless it's my phone, then I'll probably keep sitting here. (I've delided, again, that it's nice to be disconnected for a little while.)
My dirty chai is long gone, but I'm keeping the reminder of its warmth on my table. The white-and-green logo surrounded by a brown cardboard sleeve is somehow reassuring. I've gotten good at having meaningful and reassuring things around me, I realize: the pencil made of Nepali newspaper, the giant planner that I'm so picky about, the bag that I made for a Christmas gift but then decided to keep for myself.
It's been good. Tuesdays are good.
And all of this doesn't really have a point, I guess, except to say that I'm happy that I've found a routine again. And a chance to write.
And also, you should spend more time at a bookstore, even if it is cliche and it is Barnes & Noble.
