Coffee and I did not fall in love until just recently. Recently as in we are approaching our two year anniversary which in the scheme of things, renders us in the newlywed-we-still-respect-each-other-stage. I just never drank it other than at my Grandma Mar’s house while eating an entire package of dunkers, otherwise known as Stella D’oro Anisette Sponge Coffee Treats. I’d eat those suckers like I was in my cell on death row. I have enough energy that adding any sort of caffeine to that inherent indefatigable mix would just make me seem abnormal.
Since I’ve embraced my abnormalities in all their glory along with my entire “abnormal” life based on societal standards, I drink coffee daily. Couldn’t be happier that Pumpkin Spice Coffee-Mate has hit the dairy case. The other day as I sleepily poured fresh water into the coffee maker reservoir, I realized something not all that profound. There are two kinds of coffee-drinking: the necessary kind and the relaxing kind.
How I made it over 37 years with enough energy to sustain my life is now in question. It’s like when the Opthamologist tells you that once you start wearing glasses or contacts your eyes will get used to the new strength and just naturally become the worse strength. They will, in a sense, become so attached to seeing life through their new lenses that they cannot see without them. Long gone will be the innocent misconception of having eyes which are completely fine, of days where everything which needs to be conducted is conducted and your irises are none the wiser.
Coffee is now necessary for me to function. As my Mom says, “I can’t understand what you’re saying, I haven’t had enough coffee yet.” I used to think she was just disagreeing with whatever was coming out of my mouth early in the morning in a feeble attempt at maintaining her usual peace through obvious mismatched kinesics. Now I know better. That crap about caffeine and becoming more like your mother with age is totally true.
But on Saturday mornings, after a stress-relieving long run in crisp (or not) air, after the steaming hot shower where run reflections and muscle loosening occur, after walking into my kitchen with a newfound perspective on life – I make coffee. And even though it’s the exact same kind, prepared in the exact same manner, poured into the exact same mug, it tastes completely different. It is hotter, fresher, and infinitely more comforting. That coffee is a reward, a harmonious extension awaiting me like an old friend.
And that’s when it hits me: there are also two kinds of people in this life. The necessary kind and the relaxing kind. Who knows which comes first. But in either case it doesn’t even matter. For in the end, they go hand-in-hand.