This morning, I sat down to start my day, and took a sip of the cup of coffee I’d just made. It was plain ole House Blend. I made it in my plebeian Keurig coffee maker, a thing I swore I’d never own one of, until I realized how much coffee I wasted making entire pots that didn’t get finished and how much paper I went through on filters. (I do often empty them out for compost, when I remember.)
Anyway, it was plain coffee, with some whole milk and one teaspoon of Anita’s fancy brownish sugar. It was so delicious that I knew I’d make it through the day just fine. That’s the power of good coffee, or in this case, okay coffee.
I have been more of a coffee snob in the past, and truly admire people like my coworkers who buy only beans they know where they came from and grind them carefully in amazingly beautiful grinders, then carefully drip them through leather-wrapped holders for the perfect cup. But, I just want some coffee in the mornings, sometimes flavored (mmm, coconut).
It’s weird how rituals like the drinking of a bitter beverage every morning become traditions in certain cultures, and how they differ from place to place. Sure, caffeine gets many people going (I am okay with or without it). I think we crave the comfort of having something to do every morning that makes you slow down (ha ha and smell the coffee) and have at least a couple of mindful moments before going and doing and thinking and talking. It’s a centering ritual, even though most people who drink morning coffee would never call it that.
Coffee, I love you. Thanks for being my morning buddy, wherever I go and whatever I’m doing.