The Week I Listened to My Kettle
The kettle took four minutes to boil. I know, because I waited the whole time.
Usually I use those four minutes the way everyone does. I unlock my phone, scroll for no particular reason, and then the kettle clicks off and I cannot remember what I just saw. I put the phone down. I make the tea. I start something else. This week, I tried leaving the phone in the other room when the kettle went on.
What I noticed:
The sound of the kettle moves through several small stages before it finishes. There is a long quiet phase, then a simmering hum, then a proper whistle. I had never heard this before. I have owned this kettle for three years.
I also noticed the soft thud of the postman dropping letters through the slot, the dog two gardens over doing her noon bark, and, somehow more disorientating than any of it, the silence inside me. That little itch where my hand usually reaches for the phone quieted down after a few seconds, and what was underneath was just… me. Standing. Waiting for tea.
It wasn't profound. That's what makes it worth mentioning.
I didn't become a calmer person this week. I'm still behind on emails and mildly worried about a thing I can't control. But I did drink four cups of tea that I actually remember drinking, which is more than I managed the week before. I think I also made eye contact with the cat for the first time in a long time.
Small thing. Still counts.
Closing question: What's the last small thing you did that you actually remember doing?
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