My solution is that each and every evening, I plan my next day's morning.
I may be too lazy for laundry, too tired for food, too exhausted for sociability; but I always always *always* have, at the very least, a morning plan for my clothes, and for my departure.
This enormously important evening departure planning includes four critical steps:
What is the next day's weather forecast? (for a clothing plan)
Where do I think I might go the next day? (for the next-morning's timing, breakfast strategy, and any possible side trip mapping plan)
c. How do I get out of town to get there? Sometimes, step c might require consultation with locals and my evening's host; and, occasionally, even walking out the door and taking a few steps to confirm the direction of my morning departure.
Then, d. (and I do this because my attention span is half of that of a goldfish's), I write that departure plan's basic directions down, and place that little paper in the pocket of the aforementioned clothes.
If I follow these steps with the same attention as that required for the plan of the invasion of Normandy, I begin each day with confidence, with scenic side trips available to me, and a general idea for where and when I will enjoy my first café con leche. Moreover, then I even look as if I know what I'm doing.
If I fail to do the all-important evening planning, then I bumble about, I forget the little scenic side trips, and I look so pathetic that even tiny children come to my aid.
Do not be that sad, lost, pitiful, whimpering Pilgrim.
Be the strong and confident Pilgrim who follows all four steps of the evening plan.
The rest of the day can be a bit of an iffy proposition for me; but starting the day strong is astonishingly wonderful.