coffeeshop reflections

It is a simple pleasure, to come in from the blustery cold into a warm cafe, noses still pink and numb, taking off rain-trodden gloves with undisguised relief and sharing a $2 chocolate crepe with the relish of a well-worn traveler. Warm food never tastes so good as to wind-chapped lips and a cold stomach. To sit for awhile in an unpretentious place, to eat for awhile to fend away the cold more than from any real hunger, to take my jacket off and dust off bits of wayward snow. To watch as people walk by, hands mittened and necks scarved, and wonder where they are off to on such a cold, snowy day. To know that in a few minutes, I too will be walking amongst them again, strolling to my next destination, perhaps never to return again to this one cafe, in this one town, in this one life. But for now, I will recline in my rest-stop, savoring the moment, breathing the scent of fresh coffee and absorbing the murmur of lunchtime conversation that really I have paid to partake, for but a brief moment in my life.

There is nothing quite like hopping in and out of warm stores on the pretext of browsing, but really to enjoy the bursts of warmth like sunbeams on my face, refreshing me before I bow out into the cold again. There is nothing quite like walking into a foreign language bookstore and flipping through the books with quiet marvel and bemused curiosity, how the texts seem oh so much more mysterious and learned because they are in a cryptic language. Or browsing through trinkets in a tourist shop, feeling the cheap metal keychains tinkling in my hands and fingering the flimsy scarves and cardboard magnets we all know are worthless but still buy for relatives we want to gift but do not want to pay much for.

I bite carefully into the simple sugared donut with the languidity of one who has all the time in the world, and sip the watered down orange juice the hotel provides, as if it is but nectar of the gods and not mass-produced grocery juice. I stir my hot chocolate and watch the lumps dissolve and transform the water into a thick brown stew, with two packets of sugar like jewels glistening and vanishing into the chocolately vortex. There is kingly enjoyment in simple things, if one takes the time to let them dance on your tongue, and to realize for a moment what pleasure there is in simply eating, and drinking, in the presence of enjoyable company. One may never have another moment quite like that, quite exactly like that. In the future, I may be dining from fine china, with the richest of fares and the most complex and orgasmic of sauces. In the future I may scoff at $2 crepes and disdain cartoned juice and refuse to even consider an unnamed donut from an unnamed bakery without raving reviews. I may morph into a person I could never dream of today. But for now youth is my money and simplicity my jewels, and I will enjoy the simple things I am given, before they are consumed by the distractions of tomorrow.

We all seek glamor, but really, glamor is really a symbol of fine living, and fine living can come in surprising and quiet ways. To me it is more of a surprise to see peace staring back at me in someone's eyes, to hear content in their voices, and a calm trust, than to see glamorous people with fancy clothes. It is the hardest thing to achieve a lasting contentment, and to be able to be quiet for long periods of time without being tormented. I still, am tormented by the quiet, and turn the radio on to distract myself so I am not plagued by ghosts of the past or constricted by sudden pangs of regret or realization. I too, have not yet found a true measure of peace to which I can sit silent by myself for a few hours, still and reflective, without feeling the need to bolt or to drown my worries with distraction, any distraction. Peace is more elusive than Ferraris or chanel bags or whatever the media plasters on our minds is the symbol of fine and exquisite living. I know if I work hard enough, earn enough, those glitzes will be in my hands, but peace? That I cannot guarantee, and will never be able to guarantee.