Anyone that knows me knows I love coffee. It’s not a sweet and simple, puppy type of love. Instead, it’s the big, major, obsessive, possibly a little too dependent upon, kind of love. It’s the magical fluid that makes mornings tolerable. It’s the substance that jumpstarts my creativity. The elixir that can bring joy to even the worst of days. For me, coffee is life.
I have a friend that has been told to decrease her coffee intake. I have no idea how she kept from throat punching the doctor that gave her that advice. I know I would have been tempted to because honestly, I think I’d rather just keel over than face a life without coffee.
After first consoling my friend, then empathizing with her, my mind began to wander into the realm of the selfish. What would I do if I were in her shoes? Would I quit coffee or stubbornly continue my passionate relationship with it? Could I treat it like a side chick that I only see when my main squeeze is out of town? Was I capable of cutting ties with it all together? It really was a difficult scenario to imagine.
The longer I thought about it, the more I began to try to decipher what it is I love so much about coffee. I love the smell that greets me every morning. I love that it wakes me up and makes me a little more personable in the morning. I love the flavor of a freshly brewed, steaming cup of coffee. I love the aroma that fills the house when I grind coffee beans. I literally love coffee.
Once I had gone through the physical aspects of coffee I love, I realized that our love affair runs much deeper than that. Coffee has been part of many important, life-altering events. Most of them starting with the simple phrase, “Want to grab a cup of coffee sometime?”
I’ve laughed over a cup of coffee more than any one person ever deserves to. I’ve shed a fair number of tears into my cup as well. I’ve celebrated birthdays, anniversaries, accomplishments, etc. with a coffee date. I’ve counseled people and sought counsel, cup in hand. I’ve gone on adventures with my trusty travel mug full of coffee. I once quit a job while drinking espresso. I was offered an incredible opportunity sitting at a table at Starbucks. I’ve made friends that became family sharing a pot of coffee. These are just the tip of the iceberg
The setting, kitchen table, café table, or even the coffee cart at church/work, made no difference. The common denominator was coffee. Or at least that was my initial thought. Reminiscing over all the coffee dates I’ve had over my life, I have had an epiphany. It wasn’t the coffee that mattered all that much; it was the fellowship and friendship that I enjoyed over those countless cups of coffee. It was the alliances built, the stories shared, the confessions made, the plans made, the time spent together. I am convinced that part of my love of coffee, which has inarguably increased in the last several years, is the association it has with the people I love and cherish. (This also explains why I have a couple of close friendships with non-coffee drinkers.) The coffee itself is just an added bonus.
In the end, I guess I could give up coffee if I really had to. Just don’t ask me to give up my Fellowship of the (Coffee) Bean. I pity the fool that tries that.