Coffee

Dear fellow travelers,

It's interesting how words sometimes lag behind. First, you experience something. Then language finds the courage to put it into words.

The other day, I realized that coffee has become a bridge for me.

A bridge to South America. A bridge to my beloved. A bridge between home and being on the road.

I used to dislike coffee. It was too bitter for me . When I drank it, it was usually at work—not because I liked it, but because I wanted to get things done. Coffee was part of getting things done. Part of meetings. Part of the office. Part of long days.

Then something changed.

After I stopped going to the office every day, my boyfriend started grinding coffee in the mornings. With a small hand grinder from Chile. He frothed oat milk by hand and set the coffee down for me. As if it were the most natural thing in the world. So lovingly.

And at some point, I realized that I suddenly liked coffee. Not the coffee from the office. Not the coffee I drank just to get by. But this coffee .

These days, we buy whole beans—preferably from South America. We try new varieties. We compare flavors. We talk about them. Coffee has become a kind of conversation.

I drink it from an olive-green travel mug that my boyfriend gave me. Sometimes in the bathroom. Sometimes at my desk while writing love letters. Sometimes on the sofa. Sometimes I just head out and take it with me.

I used to drink coffee to wake up. Now I drink coffee to feel at ease.

Perhaps that is the story of recent years: that more and more things are ceasing to be tools—and are beginning to become relationships .

*

Over the last few days, I've done something very simple. I drove to Aldi. Nothing spectacular, really.

On the way, I was so hungry that I spontaneously bought something and ate it while walking. My body devoured every bite as if it had been waiting for it. Later, I passed a small stand. A conversation started. Then another one. And another idea.

And suddenly I thought: Why not go to Bangkok for a change?

Not because I want to run away. But because it would be nice. Just nice.

In the past, I would have started planning right away. Making lists. Weighing the pros and cons. But now I just thought: Why not?

I like this question.

Why not wear a summer blouse, even if you’re not going anywhere?
Why not take new routes through the city?
Why not fly to Thailand for two weeks?
Why not build something no one has ever seen before?
Why not make yourself visible?
Why not be happy?

It feels as if life is slowly becoming bigger again. Not in a spectacular way, nor as a major breakthrough. But as a possibility.

I no longer have to defend my life. Or explain it. Or justify it.

I can just live it.

And maybe that's exactly where the sense of ease I've been searching for so long begins.

With love and a warm cup of coffee in my stomach,
Jeannette