Morning Walks, Tall Blondes, and the Wisdom of Old Men

I’ve settled into a good morning routine lately—lacing up my shoes, stepping outside, and taking a three-mile loop through the neighborhood. There’s something about walking the same route each day that feels grounding. Predictable, but not boring. Familiar, but still full of little surprises.

Most mornings, Angie’s with me. She’s the best walking partner—steady pace, good company, and doesn’t mind my rambling thoughts out loud. But today, I was flying solo.

As I passed by Starbucks—right around mile two—I couldn’t resist. I stopped and picked up a tall blonde. Roast, that is. (Stay with me here.) There’s something about that cup of coffee that just makes the morning feel complete. Warm, bright, and just the right amount of jolt to carry me through the last mile.

Every day outside that same Starbucks, there’s a table of four or five retired men sitting together, sipping their coffees and solving the world’s problems one sip at a time. We usually exchange a bit of small talk. They always invite me to sit down and join them, and I always smile and say, “Still got a job to do.” Maybe one of these days, I’ll have time to stay and join the roundtable of caffeine-fueled wisdom.

Until then, I walk on—tall blonde in hand, thinking maybe they’ve got the right idea.

(Strava screenshot here, for proof that I actually walked and didn’t just drive to Starbucks.)