Where We Begin Again

The breakfast table

Every morning, just before the sun has fully settled in, six of us gather around the same table in the dining room. We are three women and three men, ranging in age from our late sixties to early eighties. We come from different backgrounds and different stories, but at breakfast, we become something steady and familiar. We become a group. A little morning family.

We sit at the same oblong table every day. The chairs are always in the same spots, and without even needing to ask, we know where each of us belongs. Our young server greets us with a warm smile and brings us our coffee and tea. She knows how we like our eggs and what kind of cereal we prefer. Her presence is part of what makes the morning feel so welcoming. She is part of the rhythm that brings us together.

We talk about how to order breakfast and about the daily schedule ahead. But we also laugh. We joke with one another. We tease each other in the kindest way. We bring up our children and our grandchildren, our aches and our silly habits. We share memories, even short ones from the day before. And somehow, even the smallest details become something worth laughing about.

We do not talk about the news. We do not talk about politics or the state of the world. Those things are too heavy for the hour and too likely to take away the peace we find in one another. Instead, we talk about ourselves. About this little world we have made at the table. About the weather. About our shared routines. It is simple, but it is not small. It is full of life.

And then, just as naturally as we arrived, we rise. We wish each other a good day. We say see you later, even though we say it every morning, and we sometimes joke about that too. There is comfort in knowing we will see one another again. That tomorrow, and the next day, the table will still be there. And so will we.

It is easy to overlook the power of something as ordinary as breakfast. But as I have learned, it is in these small rituals that something vital happens. We are not alone. We are not isolated. We are seen and heard and welcomed. We are part of something that makes us smile and that holds us together.

I have come to believe that these daily moments matter more than we know. They protect us. They soften the harder parts of aging. They bring warmth to our days and keep our spirits bright. They may even help our minds stay clearer and our hearts stay lighter. And all it takes is sitting at a table with people who care.

This is the beauty of the breakfast table. And I am grateful for it every single day.