But first, coffee.
A progress report from my three-day coffee fast.
I am setting aside coffee. At least for the last 3 days. It’s an addiction that started in New York. I was fully leaning into my brooding Brooklyn self, surviving on coffee and Think Thin Bars, spending the only money I had on manicures and Zara tops I’d usually return.
I wish I could remember my gateway coffee, the one that pre-empted my now 20-year addiction. I’ll never forget the time in 2010 when my brother and I took my dad to a coffee shop on Bedford Avenue. There was a line out the door of hungover hipsters in flannel shirts and Japanese denim, clutching copies of Infinite Jest they had no intention of finishing. The three of us were happily chatting about my dad’s drive from Maine and the killer Freedy Johnston song he couldn’t wait to play for us in the car on repeat.
As we slowly made our way to the front of the line, The Black Keys blared over the speakers and the barista stared at us blankly. My dad stood there studying the menu with the concentration of a man trying to assemble IKEA furniture without any instructions. The line grew longer and the barista’s patience wore thinner. My dad flipped the menu over to the blank back, then looked up at the barista puzzled and asked, “You don’t have anything like a Frappuccino, do you?” The barista slowly blinked his eyes and shook his head. I couldn’t tell if he was perturbed, disturbed, or simply existing in a state of quiet dread. My dad continued, “Nothing blended? No? You don’t do anything like that?”
The funny thing about this is that I never knew my dad to ever order a Frappuccino. He didn’t drink or smoke so I like to imagine this was his version of going to a new city for a weeked and trying on an entirely new personality—like when you find yourself in New Orleans taking half a tab of acid as your cousin spatchcocks a chicken, and you’re 100% certain the walls are breathing so you call your brother at 5AM crying, “Will I be this way forever?”
Yeah, probably not quite like that.
But I think what I love most about coffee is the ritual. The quiet comfort of its certainty, the one universal constant no matter the city or season. I once had a roommate who hung a giant canvas in our kitchen: “But first, coffee.” It pained me. And yet, every morning, I’d shuffle into the kitchen like the humble disciple of a Pinterest slogan.
I’ve heard I should try matcha, something about the L-Theanine and how it curbs caffeine, but I don’t know. There’s really nothing that says “rise and shine” like a quick hit of fleeting fire coursing through your veins only to taper off and leave you in a state of existential dread.
[Written in my writing course with Trust & Travel from the prompt, “What is something you are taking off, setting aside, giving away. Write a goodbye letter.”]