Sweet and warm

I want to tell you about Kevin. But first, I need to complain about coffee shops.

I don’t know when coffee shops became a thing. They only entered my life a few years ago, when I took a newspaper job and the corner shop a half block from the newsroom became a convenient place to meet for interviews.

To the uninitiated, coffee shop menus offer a dizzying array of exotic words with round endings: macchiato, cappuccino, espresso, Americano. In the fanciest places (I swear I’m not making these up) you can order cortado, doppio, ristretto, affogato... There’s lattes and frappes and flat whites and pour-overs and cafe au lait, and cold brew coffee and iced coffee which, apparently, are two different things, even though they both sound like the leftovers at the bottom of the pot that people throw out the next morning.

To a girl who never learned to drink coffee ― they say it’s an acquired taste, and I never saw a need to acquire it ― the wall-mounted list of options on my first coffee shop visits loomed daunting verging on terrifying.

Trying to appear competent in the eyes of my interview subject, I would step to the counter, pretending to weigh what delightful drink best suited my fancy that day.

And then, invariably, I would crumble into a heap of helplessness, confessing to the nice young person behind the counter that I just wanted something sweet and warm.

And, invariably, the kind person taking my order would smile, tell me it was OK, and hand me a cup that warmed me inside and out and made my anxieties melt away, or at least helped me put them into perspective.

Many’s the hour I have since spent at a coffee shop table with my laptop and a cup of hot something and maybe a scone, wrapped in soft music and gentle chatter and clinks and laughter, freed by the caffeine and the sweetness and the warmth of my surroundings to think new thoughts and see the world in a new, quietly breathtaking way.

Snitches of life glide in and out of your periphery at a coffee shop. The animated conversation of the Bible study at the corner table. The mother and daughter sharing a smile. The bleary-eyed college students comparing class notes, the nervous job interview, the couples and strangers and friends stepping out of the busy stream of their days and talking deeply, sitting quietly, breathing, hands wrapped around warm paper cups.

Truth be told, I still don’t know what to order at a coffee shop, although I know enough to be able to ask for a chai latte with confidence. Most of the time, I still tell the barista I just want something sweet and warm and nice. And, bless them, they always come through.

I have never actively wanted to be a business. But, if I had to pick a business that represents the person I would like to be, I would choose a coffee shop.

I want to be a place where people turn for comfort, for warmth and strength. I want to make everyone feel welcome, just as they are. I want to be a place where it’s OK to let your mind expand to explore new ideas and big thoughts, and a place where it’s OK to just sit quietly.

I’m not, though.

Eyes turned to my own stresses and messes, I too often miss opportunities to be a refuge for others. I grumble about my little tribulations, blind to the emotional aches of even the people I love best and ignoring the reaching hands that just want something warm to hold.

One of the lovely parts of being human is that we always have the chance to do better.

Maybe today I’ll look up from my self-absorption enough to give a smile to the hardware store worker who asks if I need help. Maybe I’ll shoot a text to the friend with whom I’ve lost touch or take a few extra moments to make an email a little warmer, a little kinder.

Maybe I’ll set aside my self-focused frets and ask a frazzled colleague what I can do to help, or treat someone who looks different than me as though we are the same.

A little warmer, a little kinder, a little more welcoming…perhaps I’m just being naive. But I can’t help thinking the world would be a nicer place if we were all a little more like coffee shops.

—----

Shoot. I haven’t told you about Kevin. That story will have to wait until next time. Kevin deserves his own post. But I’ll take one extra moment, as promised, to complain about coffee shops: They’re just too dang awesome.

Shout out to Cabin Creek in Alpena, MI, best little coffee shop I know; to MI Northern Espresso in Rogers City, MI, host of many coffee shop computer dates with my husband and home of the exquisite Quarry View Latte; and Jackson Coffee Co. in downtown Jackson, MI, where the plants all have names and there’s an upstairs, which, needless to say, is amazing.

Oh, one more thing. If I ever opened a coffee shop, I would name it the Angry Bean. I will never open a coffee shop, so the name is up for grabs, and I happen to think it’s a good one. If you use it, please let me know and I will come to your shop and order something sweet and warm.

—----

If you know of someone who might enjoy this blog, I’d be honored if you would share it with them.

If you email me using the SEND ME AN EMAIL box below (sorry about the all caps – I don’t know how to fix that), I will write back. I like talking to humans.

Sign up below (in the NEW POST ALERT SIGNUP box) if you’d like to be notified when I put up a new post. I intend to do that every Thursday, but I’m posting this on a Tuesday, so we’ll see how that goes.