Somewhere in the middle of the night I woke up and closed the bedroom window, drawing the heavy curtains, plunging the room into a deeper shade of darkness then tumbling back into sleep. I woke again shortly after six AM, buried in the comfortable warmth of my Egyptian cotton blanket, reluctant to open that cocoon to the morning chill. I drew a deep breath and rolled out. Barefoot I padded across the floor into the hot embrace of a morning shower and then, wrapped in a towel, I stood before the mirror and shaved.
I dressed simply, black jeans, a blue button down shirt with white pinstripes, and my gray sport coat. I gathered the incidental things of the working day. Belt, wallet, watch, key-ring, cell phone, employee ID all find their proper places. I skip my morning cup of coffee at home, knowing I have a meeting first thing in the morning and there will be plenty of coffee. Then, out of pure habit, I stop at the coffee shop on the way into office for a peach Danish and a cup of black coffee. The usually quiet shop is full, packed with workers from the construction site across the street, rebuilding the Chinese restaurant and bar that burned down late last year.
I stop in the parking lot to admire the morning. It is crisp and cool, sixty degrees and the morning sky is very gray, with a heavy August fog. The Weather Channel says the morning fog will burn off and we will climb into the low eighties. I savor the morning and savor the coffee and pause to text T.R., who is traveling today. Then, I climb back into the Saturn and slip onto Lawrence Expressway for the drive into the office. I listen to the news on NPR, the ongoing health care reform debate. I wonder at the inability of people to actually sit down and talk to each other instead of at each other.
My office reflects the morning coldness as well, so I settle in, put on the headset, and start the morning meetings. I multi-task through the first meeting since it is mostly a "listen to what we have to say" meeting and my role is as an information resource and not an active participant. I am there to answer any questions that might arise within my area of expertise. No questions arise. One meeting under the belt, I hang up the phone.
From there, I work my way quickly through my morning e-mail queue, reading, sorting, deleting, and responding. I drop three items into the "action required" folder. One request for information, two requests for trouble-shooting assistance. I realize it is probably time to bring a sweater or two into the office and put them into the file cabinet with the change of clothes I always keep there. The bottom drawer of my file cabinet contains two changes of clothes. There is a set of casual clothes and a suit. There is a small shaving kit with the basic toiletries. All are tucked into a small soft-sided athletic bag. It is basically a traveling kit and it allows me to travel with almost no notice and it gives me a margin of error in the office.
I will tell you a quick and true story of that margin of error. It is another morning, in another place. I am wearing a suit, waiting for a meeting to start. I pour myself a cup of coffee. I walk over to the window and stand at the window, looking out over Moffett Field, watching the planes taxi along the runway. I feel sometime wet on my chest. I glance down. My tie is dangling straight into my coffee cup and drawing the coffee up across my white broadcloth shirt. That is a margin of error.
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