"What's your pleasure practice?" my friend Lynn asked.
We were sitting in a cafe having coffee together. And by "together," I mean I was drinking coffee, which practically landed on her lap after she asked this question and it went out my nose and across the table. Otherwise, Lynn was drinking tea.
"Little personal, don't you think?" I responded.
Lynn smiled. "No, no. I mean your daily morning pleasure practice." She emphasized the "daily" and the "morning." Clearly, there was something I was supposed to be getting, but I still didn't get it. I raised an eyebrow.
"What do you do each day that makes you happy?"
"Oh!" I said far too loudly. I sipped my coffee as I pondered. This time, it didn't go out my nose.
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Lynn is the crunchy kind. She speaks in time relegated not to a clock but to the moon's phases. She collects stones in her yard, gives them personalities and bestows wishes upon them before setting them back down to the earth. This, she says, is how she replenishes the world that plenishes her. She does yoga with goats, defines feelings as earth elements and often says I need to invoke water, because I apparently live life in the fire.
I don't know what any of this means. I never know what she means. But I nod as if I do.
I thought about my morning routine, which relies heavily on coffee, work and the morning news -- all of which are necessary but don't necessarily bring pleasure.
"It's because you subsist in the orange chakra," Lynn said. I'd been told this before, and despite the fact that I'm always assured it's not an insult, it always seems to be one. And once again, I didn't know what she meant but nodded anyway. "You can't live your fullest life without a pleasure practice."