Boiled egg, tomato juice, and black coffee.

I have always liked this breakfast, but by now it's a kind of talisman.  It puts me in the right state of mind. 

I have three states of mind and being now, so to speak.

1.  where I lived every day before May 13 of this year,  even when I was trying to lose weight:  the place where more food promises to make me feel happier.  I've visited a couple of times since then, enough to know I don't want to stay for long.
2.  where I lived almost every day after May 13 and up to a few weeks ago, powerful and aware, choosing on purpose to feel hunger; hunger, my physical therapy, my cure.  
3. where I'm planning to settle, the place of stability, a place I don't know and don't understand.

The boiled egg first thing in the morning is a signal I send to my self:  This day is for choosing.  Get ready.

There's a ritual to the boiled egg.  I come downstairs, I collect my materials.  The tiny saucepan my mother-in-law gave me.  Two teaspoons.  Egg cup.  Small plate.  Salt and pepper.   The brown egg.  A child's juice glass.  I put the saucepan of water on to boil before I start the coffee.  I wait, warming my hands over the rising steam.  When the water boils I put egg on spoon, slip it into the water carefully (don't crack the shell) and set the timer.  Six minutes later, I turn off the flame, spoon the egg out and drop it point-down into my egg cup.  The egg cup goes in the center of my plate next to the clean spoon.  A cup of hot coffee, tomato juice to the rim of my glass, the salt and pepper grinders to the side.  I tap all around the shell, a quarter of the way down, with the edge of my spoon, then slice it off and lay it aside.  

In the perfect egg (for me) the white is all solid, the yolk a viscous fluid.  I salt and pepper the sliced-off top and eat that first, scraping it out of the cupped fragment of shell; then I turn to the rest of the egg in the cup, alternately salting and spooning till the shell is empty.  I drain my glass and pick up my coffee cup, warming my hands. 

Boiled eggs aren't for everyone, I suppose.  But do you have a magical breakfast, a breakfast that marks the beginning of a sort of day — a "good day," a "work day," a "busy day," a "calm day" — some kind of day you're hoping to attain?  Is there a breakfast that says to you, "There, that's one thing — one thing that went exactly right — what's next?  Bring it on!"  

If you haven't got such a breakfast, I recommend you come up with one.  It may not be a boiled egg — maybe it's a big bowl of oatmeal, maybe it's a peanut butter sandwich and a glass of milk (for me that would be the start of a "comfort myself with food" day — bad idea), maybe it's an omelette aux fines herbes, maybe it's breakfast at the all-night place up the street in the wee hours before the rest of the family wakes up, just you with the Sunrise Special and the early edition, maybe it's a particular brand of granola bar, maybe it's a yogurt smoothie.  

It doesn't matter what it is.  If you haven't got one, then you can design it.  Make it a ritual, make it regular, and make it yours.