Finding Time for Tea

Get up. Get ready. You’ve fallen behind and are about ten minutes late for work. You have time to stop at Starbucks if there’s no line. Don’t forget the packed lunch that a younger, wiser you made the night before. A you that knew your morning self’s ten-minute-late attitude. Brush your teeth in a hurry, hoping that the dentist won’t find too many problems. Slip your shoes on, walk out the door… and walk right back in. Can’t forget that packed lunch.

You stop in front of the kettle. A tea strainer rests next to a loose-leaf bag. An oolong bag—something to give you a gentle start to the morning.

It’s too late for that, isn’t it?

You walk out the door. Tea will have to wait.

I’ve lived this morning for years. I break this routine about half of the time, starting the electric kettle before I get dressed and steeping the leaves while I gather my other things. The issue is, even one minute of delay feels more like an hour. I’m already late, whether because I snoozed the alarm or because I nearly fell asleep in front of the bathroom sink. (I’m not a morning person.)

One lost minute shouldn’t dictate this habit. It isn’t. The daily pressure is. I’m overbooked. I’ve run out of time. I want to claw back every second I can.

So the tea remains bagged, and I go tired and upset. I hate to say that one cup of tea can alter my mood so much, but it does.

The worst part of this routine is the context. I’m trying to claw back time, right? For what?

What am I trying to “reclaim” in this hurry?

Ironically, the answer is that tea. Not just the drink, but the two minutes to warm the half-empty kettle. The three minutes to steep my oolong. It’s the five minutes where I’m not scrambling to gather my things. A resting time. A breathing time.

That’s the first thing I cut from my mornings.

Relaxing mornings aren’t common, especially if you’re a night owl, but I crave this routine: breathing in the middle of my morning rather than panting at 6 AM; stretching my legs instead of jumping from sleeping to sitting in a car.

When I make these moments happen, I inevitably have more time in my day. This respite offers a gathering point for my body and mind.

Have you ever gotten ready for a big event, hurried yourself together, and received a cancellation text just minutes before you’re out the door? I bet the emotions afterwards were complicated: a mixture of annoyance—you put so much effort into your look—but also a bit of relief. You have time again. Not just anytime. Free time.

You hadn’t expected three hours added to your day. What will you do? It’s almost a liberating experience, and with all the effort you put into yourself, you can accomplish anything. The options are endless.

Relaxation comes to mind. Yes, that sounds good.

A chance to catch your breath again. Catch up on hobbies, or work, or self-care... Today it’s on your time.

I’d make myself a cup of tea.

When we give ourselves these moments of peace, we’re giving ourselves moments to sprint as well. I sometimes believe myself to be like a pronghorn antelope, running at 40 to 50 miles an hour for an hour at a time. Even a pronghorn needs a break, or they overheat. When I stop running, I let go of stress. Nothing is chasing me. I remember my hunger and my thirst, and the less pressing things. My garden. Tea. Old things in the fridge. Tasks I can walk to. Afterwards, I can run.

Most mornings, I’ve been chased. First by my tired mind, then comes the clock. I’m caught up—not unless I stop for two minutes and three minutes more, and have my oolong tea.