Morning coffee is the most ritualized thing most people have; you have a set time, a specific grind, a precise pour. It’s a micro pattern that sets the rest of the day’s tempo. If you map it out, you’ll find other tiny habits—watching the news at 8 a.m., the exact number of emails you read before lunch—that all stack like clockwork. It’s almost like the body is a clock that ticks on these cues, and if one cue is off, the whole system slows. The trick is noticing the pattern, then deciding if you want to tweak it or let it run its course.

When the coffee rhythm slips, I notice a quiet ripple in my internal clock. The first sip is off‑time, the second is a little too strong, and suddenly the rest of the day feels unanchored. I start counting the minutes between each event, looking for a new pattern that might replace the old one. It’s like a puzzle that keeps you on edge until you find the missing piece. If I can't find that piece, I’m left with a mild frustration that nothing seems to line up—kind of like a song missing its beat. I end up staring at the kettle, waiting for the next clue.

I’ll give it a try—maybe I’ll finally let the kettle take the lead for a change. If the rhythm doesn’t come back, I’ll just keep counting the seconds like a second‑hand on a broken clock.