A couple of years ago my children gifted me a stainless steel coffee plunger. I love to start the day with a strong black coffee and couldn’t wait to use this shiny new breakfast addition.

The following morning’s coffee ritual was tinged with new anticipation, knowing that I probably wouldn’t shatter this plunger as easily as I had done so often in the past.

As I sat to pour my first cup of coffee, my joy dissipated as it leaked all over the table. Thankfully no one was around to see my bewildered and disappointed face! I persevered, but morning after morning would see me wiping up the spills it left behind until the realisation dawned that if I poured excruciatingly slowly, not a drop was spilt.

This was at first a very painful experience. My normal practice was to rush through breakfast to launch myself headlong into whatever frantic day I was facing. But in time I learned not only to pour slowly but to savour the experience: the aroma, the taste, the stillness of a new day. I was forced into being mindful of my morning ritual and gradually noticed it had a knock-on effect throughout the day.

It prompted me to reflect upon whether there were other areas of my life I was rushing through. Most of life, it seemed. I started to intentionally leave extra time to do even the most mundane of tasks. When shop owners would apologise for keeping me waiting they were stunned when I’d say, “Not a problem, I’m not in a hurry”, which more often than not led to them sharing something of their day – often a negative experience from others in a hurry.