Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

I’m sitting in my office staring between the horizontal slats of the blinds on the window. It’s early morning, and I keep the blinds down because I usually arrive at my computer in varying degrees of undress. I don’t want to shock the neighbors this early in the day.

However, the first thing I do when getting out of bed is check “My Life.” You could say I’ve already acknowledged it if I’m able to get out of bed; but by that phrase I mean I review what’s come over the virtual transom since yesterday. There are emails from friends, various work issues (since I work for a company in New York and communicate primarily via Internet), and the uninvited spam. There are also several website to check that are related to my job.

Once I have a picture of the challenges the day might hold, I stare outside. Watch the pond this side of our home faces, waiting for the two fountains to turn on. Search the sky for clues to the weather. Look for the two ducks that have made the pond a temporary home. Breathe the peacefulness.

I end some days like this too. The front of our home faces west, so in high summer there is always a sunset to consider. Last night I sat at the same spot, the blinds still horizontal, which made it look as if pieces of the sun descended, one after the other, into trees on the far side of the pond. I admired every one.

Not every day is as tranquil. Some are crazy; others are non-productive; still others pass with the snap of a finger, and I can’t remember them at all. Is it because “Time flies,” or is it because we don’t always take time to orient ourselves. I don’t know, but I think that’s what I try to do each morning when I check “My Life.”