Dear Readers, One of my longest lasting and most committed relationships has been with coffee. I believe it was 1998 when coffee and I started going steady. I was driving to Houston after a wedding late at night, and I found myself dozing off behind the wheel. So, in order to remedy my sleepiness, I pulled into a gas station and picked up a glass bottle of Starbucks frappuccino. While it certainly had more cream and sugar than coffee, that became my introduction to enjoying the taste of coffee. I began consuming this high-calorie caramel and vanilla beverage, helping with my marathon study sessions, assisting me in actually attending my 8 a.m. classes and even getting ready for dates.
When I lived in Philadelphia in my late 20s, it made me feel so “adult” when payday arrived and I could afford a fancy coffee at the Starbucks on Market Street. To this day, I’m still intimidated to order at one of these chains because I never did quite grasp the lingo, sizing, syrup and milk selections. Later, in my 30s, I veered away from corporate coffee and started to figure out my own preferences without the urgency of a long line shuffling behind me.
This week, I found myself manually grinding coffee beans in a ceramic bowl using a coffee mug as a pestle — clearly, I’ve come a long way from my frappuccino days. In that moment, I realized just how much coffee has integrated itself into my life, not just as a drink but as a daily ritual. This beverage has become a necessity, a non-negotiable part of my morning routine. I can’t even fathom functioning without at least one carafe of French press before I dare to face the day. Coffee before the mirror, coffee before emails, coffee before coherent thoughts.
And then I think about all the people who somehow manage to get dressed, leave their homes and head out into the world without first being caffeinated. Who are you people? Are you even real? Some of you even get behind the wheel, venture out and wait in line at coffee shops for your first cup — without crashing into a shrub or forgetting how to operate your turn signal. It’s baffling to me. I only venture out for coffee when I’m truly desperate, when my last scoop of grounds has been used up, and I simply cannot make it to the store without that first shot of caffeine courage.
Living in Europe has changed my relationship with coffee, too. In Portugal, you don’t “grab a coffee” — you take a coffee. There’s an intentionality to it, almost like it’s a form of meditation. You sit, you enjoy, you breathe between sips. Coffee isn’t just a pick-me-up; it’s a sit-me-down. “Taking” a coffee is almost like medicine. And if you order a “normal” coffee over here, that means espresso. You wanted a full cup? Well, that’s called an “Americano,” because apparently, we Americans enjoy a lot more water in our coffee!
What I love most about coffee is how it means many things to different people. Some need it to survive the 9 to 5, some enjoy it as a social activity and others use it as time to relax and reflect. Regardless of whether we’re gulping it down in our cars, savoring it with friends at a café or desperately grinding beans alone in the kitchen with a makeshift grinder, we all have quirks, rituals and a lovehate relationship with this little cup of liquid motivation that connects us all. I am so grateful it exists. Bless you, coffee.
