My orange mug and me

My orange mug and me

My knees crack as I let my weight fall onto the soft cool leather and reach down to the leaver, pulling up my foot rest to level. A deep inhale gathers as I cross my feet before I release my breath bringing the morning cup of goodness to my lips. A familiar savoury flavour with a touch of sweetness (half a teaspoon of sugar to be exact) fills my mouth before it moves on to warm my chest. All these years, it is still my favourite ritual. Although the surroundings while executing this routine have changed dramatically along the way. 

The first time I warmed my hands on this mug I was sitting on a high leaner table on a rusting balcony overlooking the Sydney city skyline. Watching on as the potent pinks and oranges filled the early morning sky. I took a deep breath in absorbing all of my surreal view and thought, Could it get any better than this? I later found out that it certainly does get better, more than I could’ve ever imagined at the time. I sipped on my revitalizing refreshment and listened to the birds dive around the trees below as they squabbled for the last bite of someone’s tossed croissant.

Mornings were never my favourite growing up. I despised getting up early while it was still dark and the thought of having extra time before school just seemed an incredible waste of my precious beauty sleep. However, when I left school and worked in jobs that required this tragedy I began to appreciate the stillness it offered. How beautiful it could be. I learned to appreciate these quiet moments and I learned to appreciate being still. In a world that is already so busy and in a job that required so much of my time, I learned to take these quiet moments in. It was then I understood how it was crucial to start each day filling my cup. 

When I moved to Australia I went into a less busy job because I wanted to try something new that didn’t involve organising my life around a consuming work schedule. It also paid better. This meant I was no longer required to be up at the crack of dawn or earlier. So it was extremely tempting to fall into my old habits of sleeping until the very last minute before performing a precise routine; shower, change, makeup, slicked back hair in a bun, rush out the door with a foggy brain and banana in hand which would inevitably be thrown out that afternoon. But when I was roaming the Glebe markets one Saturday morning not long after touching down, I stumbled across a petite and colourful stand, scattered with all sorts of quirky gifts and homeware pieces. Of course my eyes immediately drew to the awkwardly handled bright orange mug by itself, perched up behind the serving lady in pearls. I knew then I'd be getting up early the next day. It was my favourite shade of sunrise, it was perfect. 

My orange mug and I started many mornings together in Sydney before moving to Adelaide, where we swapped the high leaner table for an oversized charcoal bean bag in a tiny, easily overheated courtyard. My flatmate was quite bemused when she first saw my morning instrument with the three individual loops, barely suitable to slip your fingers into. “How are you even meant to drink out of that without spilling!” She laughed while attempting to impersonate me in my sunrise state of mind. I had almost 365 coffees in Adelaide before I packed my mug back into my suitcase.  Where it was then carefully wrapped up in various socks to ensure no damage occurred while surviving the trip in a turbulent cargo hold.

When setting up my new apartment in Melbourne, my orange ornament was placed front and centre. Asserting its dominance on the exposed shelf in the new moody kitchen. From the next morning and onwards, I soaked up the exciting cityscape that stretched as far as my eyes could see. Marinating in anticipation of the day ahead while I sat at the table on our balcony, eighteen stories above the murky river below. I relished the way the deep rays of red burst up from behind the silhouetted skyline. It was truly magical. 

From Australian city sights to English country landscapes. Then snow capped mountains in Switzerland for a time. Before angry crashing waves sweeping across the shore back home. I cherished packing and unpacking my quirky cup each time. Because when it was tucked away and zipped into my tired, slowly-falling-apart suitcase, a whole new adventure awaited. Not just from starting a new job or meeting interesting people, or exploring unknown places or even dancing into the nightlife. It was the rush from that first morning I looked forward to the most. The first of many in my new destination where I would sit back and soak it all in. Digesting the different shapes, colours and smells with my entire being. Fueling my existence once again. 

I see less these days. The shapes don’t usually change, the colours are often the same and the smells are all too familiar. Yet I can still feel the familiar cycle of excitement, anxiety before the relief and empowerment that once filled my youth. Perhaps it's habitual. Or perhaps it’s because of the familiarity and comfort this moment offers. All those places and all those people along the way, yet here I am God knows how many years later holding the same cup. And holding a lifetime of memories. It’s a bit faded now. Still awkward to hold and more chipped around the edges - much like myself - but we are here today. That’s all that matters. As I drain the last few drops, I inhale once more and feel grateful for the less than interesting view ahead. A browning hedge shuffles lightly in the breeze as some neighbours slowly make their way across the yard. The sun begins to glisten off the variety of equipment in use, quad canes, wheelchairs and a collar of a gentle guide dog. I exhale, thanking myself for not rushing to get here. For there’s not much unknown ahead. It’s a life already lived. All that’s left is my orange mug and me.