Right now I’m sitting At Milltown Coffeehouse, laptop plugged in, wearing my favorite pair of faded jeans, waiting on the barista to bring my bagel and cream cheese. A tad bit disappointed that they didn’t have Everything bagels.
Side note. The last time I was here, they forgot to toast my bagel. (just thought I’d add that even though it has nothing to do with this blog post)
This is the time that I usually seek solitude. A place where I can get some writing done away from my home, my son, my houseplants, camera equipment and my dog. What occurred to me was that I referred to this coffee shop as my “happy place.”
But is it?
Upon deeper examination, I realize that I am surrounded by strangers who apparently want to share their personal conversations with the room, paying for mediocre coffee and handing out gratuity for mediocre service.
My point is this, there is so much power in the words we speak. The words we speak aloud as well as our subconscious thoughts.
Another side note: When did they start allowing children into coffee shops anyway?
This four-ish kid at the other table is whining insistently because he is clearly bored and wants to go outside. Perhaps it’s the ambience, or lack there of. One thing for certain is that this is definitely not his “happy place”, and apparently not mine either.
All of a sudden, there is hearty boom of laughter behind me. Someone said something that was apparently as funny as a Kevin Hart standup. Good job buddy. Another guy just walked past me with at least thirty napkins in hand attempting to quicker picker up the cup of coffee that he just spilled.
Another thunderous boom of laughter from the group of six at Kevin Hart’s table. I turned around and counted because I am freaking myself out by the idea of there being anything happy about this place. Hell, did I leave my “happy place” to come here?
Wait…
The entire vibe has just changed. The group of six just filed out in a single file line. Of course they slid their chairs loudly against the concrete floor on the way out.
Now the only sound that can heard is the guy blending something at the counter, and the four-ish child asking for another cookie. Everyone else appears to be using their inside voices now, so my anxiety level has drastically lowered, which means that I free to re-enter the quiet, cool, funky vibe that I brought into this place. It felt quite generic before I walked in.
All of a sudden I miss my Sumatra and my Monstera’s. This place did not serve dark roast, so I cant even get the coffee buzz. Its the equivalent of non-alcoholic beer and salt-free pretzels.
If you haven’t figured it out yet, there are no happy places, because happy does not live inside of the walls of a building. It lives inside of you, and me, and we. Insert your own pronoun. It breathes life from being surrounded by the things and the people that you love. That is the real connection.
All of a sudden I miss my Sumatra and my Monstera’s. I’m packing up my laptop and taking my happy place on the road!
Be your happy place my friends.
Brett
I'm Free To Be Over 50 