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Café Nirvana
My little girl asks me each time why I insist on cooking my coffee on the stove with a cinnamon stick. I tell her, well baby, because you should always ask for what you like. And take the time out of your day to do it. I know lots of people who don't it. And they'll order the regular stuff from the drive through window, then sip on it on their way to work.
See, that used to be what I did. For 12 years I would sip my café regular on my way to work, then set it on my desk, answer emails, make phone calls, take phone calls, smile at the people I had to, talk to them about my weekend, ask them how the weather was outside, and all of that. Then around 10 am, I'd find a place of quiet. While everyone was in the break room, I'd lean back at my desk, alone, to take a sip. A sip of the cold water and milk drink with a double shot of coffee grains.
It wasn't until after all the personal chaos I endured; you know like the time when I couldn't feel my hands and arms from the numbness of typing vigorously trying to prove my worth at work, and that time when just breathing for 10 seconds seemed like a punishing, grueling impossibility, as well as how grinding my teeth became the norm for me; that I decided not a new day would pass that I didn't enjoy a cup of coffee (or three) the way I like it. Uninterrupted. Alone. Deliciously quiet, and with a slight hint of cinnamon so it can taste Mexican.
I don't know how long I'll get to live this fantasy. The fantasy of being in my own space in my own head all of the time. Of waking up, going outside and seeing the sun, as well as feeling the breeze brush on my face. That perk wasn't available at the office.
I look back at how I've never really cared how many things I have. At how I've lost so many "things", and I'd just brush it off and keep on going. Why? And why am I here again now doing it out of personal enjoyment? I have a feeling that if I don't allow anything less, this satisfaction won't actually end. It will continue elaborating into this perfect universe that I create for me. This serene, simple, unperturbed nirvana. She tuned out a while ago, now realizes I've stopped talking, and then laughs at me and tells me I'm insane. So I give her a smug smile because she's right.