The Most Meaningful Moment of My Day

After School Drop-Off

Rebecca Barry
Author of Later, at the Bar 
 
It may be that a truly disciplined person gets up and goes directly to work, but I’ve accepted that I’m not that kind of person. So after the kids go to school, I give myself an hour each morning to head down to the coffee shop and gossip.
 
I have always loved this part of the day. When I was single and child-free, I went to a bar every day at 5 p.m. to hear what was going on: how so-and-so set his own house on fire; that roommates X and Y got into a fistfight because X left town for the weekend and hid the TV remote to spite Y; and so on. Now it’s morning at the coffee shop, where I gather the details worth knowing about the fight that happened in the building across the street (a futon was thrown down the stairs; a television landed in the sink). It’s where I run into my neighbors. It’s where I hear about people’s spouses (current and former), jobs, and children. It’s where I talk about my family and get leads on work.
 
Once I spoke with an anthropologist who told me that while gossiping often has a negative connotation, most of us use it simply to connect with one another. I always loved this idea, and so I cherish that hour, when I enjoy the small things that make the world a nice place to live―good coffee, a cozy place to sit, and listening to other people’s business.
 
 

10:30 a.m.

Monique Truong
Author of The Book of Salt 
 
I am a late riser. I have my first cup of coffee around 10:30 in the morning. Then I do what my husband and I jokingly refer to as “walking the grounds.” In our small backyard in Brooklyn, we have squeezed a fig tree, several citrus trees, a variety of herbs, and a couple of pots of geraniums and ivy. I inspect every little thing that has sprouted, bloomed, and wilted, especially now that autumn is in full tilt.
 
My husband does the same thing before he goes off to work, long before I am awake. We call each other during the day to compare notes. We talk about the one lime that has survived the hourly squirrel attacks. (Brooklyn squirrels are no joke.) Or how the figs have ripened overnight, turning yellow and almost obscenely bloated.
 
Of course, our modest backyard is not worthy of the term “the grounds” (I think of a country estate or a villa), but somehow that phrase reminds me of the joy of being a caretaker, a constant companion to these plants. Though, perhaps, the joy is also in the sharing of this small piece of the earth with my own constant companion.
 
 

Noon

Lily Tuck
Author of The News From Paraguay and Woman of Rome 
 
All my writing life, I have said that I don’t go out for lunch―or at least not unless I am having lunch with my editor, my agent, a long-lost friend who is in town from, say, Australia for only that day, etc., etc. My day goes something like this: I get up, have coffee, read the paper, go to my yoga class, return home―on the way, I pick up a sandwich, this is important!―go to my desk, and start to work.
 
Well, perhaps, I don’t really start to work: I read e-mails, send e-mails, go to my favorite blogs, check eBay, make a few phone calls. All of a sudden, I look at my watch and it is noon and lunchtime! I go get the aforementioned sandwich and put it on a plate on a tray with a glass of soda water and bring it back to my desk.
 
I eat my lunch. The reason the sandwich is so important and such a meaningful part of my day is that it, in fact, marks and divides the day. After lunch, it is time for me to stop procrastinating and actually go to work and write. And most days, I do.