Caught in the moment

Dear readers, this week I had the pleasure to guest post for The Coffee Shop Chronicles over at Paisley Rain Boots, a blog run by my dear mother. You can find the post here, or enjoy it below. 

A hum of chatter fills the room. Every open space is filled with the voice of one or another. 

There are the three in the corner, opposite the one in which I have taken up residency. College students tucked into the l-shaped booth: one boy, two girls. They are done with the days demands of class. They are out, making their rounds on this blustery day where the temperature reads in the single digits. I overhear the next stop being the local brewery, less than a block from the coffee shop. Only college students would move from coffee shop to brewery. 

Then there are the pairs. 

The two girls, in their early twenties, deep in conversation. Their large ceramic mugs out in front of them: emptied. They never intended to stay this long. They have spent the last hour telling one story after another, playing catch up after last weeks mid-semester break. They've taken this time, this hour, to pull away from the textbooks full of terms, the research papers waiting to be typed, and the exam that needs prepping for to connect and reconnect. 

The second pair. Two men. Their lives are an open avenue. College degrees under their belt, but unsure of which path to take. Scared and not ready to leave the comforts of this college town. Not ready to say farewell to the great lake, ski hills, nights out on the town, and even the ten a.m classes. For now they sit, coffee in front of them, and push away the unknown of reality. 

Only three voices remain silent. 

One. He has been there for hours, bent over his laptop and on his fourth cup of coffee. He is writing, or rather typing, with a few select books open on the table before him. A graduate student nearing the end, working to perfect this thesis paper. He, too, like the pair of men is feeling the pressures of the open avenue of life that lies ahead of him. But, for now, the thesis paper is his focus. 

Two. Another man. A cup of soup in a to-go cup in front of him, though he doesn't seem to be going anywhere. His cup of water still full rests beside him. He seems to be breathing in the moment; taking a moment to sit, eat, and think about this game of life we are all players in.

And last, me. I'm tucked in the corner table, alongside the big front window. I find myself surrounded by papers filled with scrawled handwriting: words of story and thought. Wondering which words to use and which ones to save for another time. Boots off, chai latte long gone, and The Weight of Glory by C.S. Lewis open to his piece on "Learning in War-Time". I'm caught in the moment.

The coffee shop: a place for conversation and growth, learning and discovering. A place to think, to write, and simply, a place to sit. A place to delight in and rejoice in. A place to be in the moment. As C.S. Lewis once said, "Never . . . commit your virtue or your happiness to the future"; rather, rejoice in the happiness of the moment you are in.

Let's crave together like we crave chocolate

Home was a place she missed. There were days where the missing was a surface level feeling and other days it was a deep pit that could not be filled. Being far away in a vast city with coffee shops on every street corner was thrilling, exciting even, but there was a but.
That but was a bit that embodied a need to be with someone. Not in a "significant other" sense, rather, quite simply, a someone whose presence created company.

She had no "other" to accompany her to the street corner coffee shop. She would go alone, and alone is good for some time, but alone added up to loneliness. Her routine was the same: chai latte, skim milk, corner table. She hid the loneliness with laptop plugged in or book pulled out with pencil and notebook alongside.

She would watch. People came in, out, they stayed, they sat, they left. There were the young with young, the young and the old, and the old with the old. There were the couples: hand holding, conversation building, latte sharing couples that made her dream and gag all at once. There were the mothers wheeling their stroller bound children in, or clinging to their hand to make sure they did not wander away.

They were all together.

She craved together like she craved chocolate. She had a desire for someone to chat with and an even deeper desire to be with someone, simply to listen to them. To listen to their story of life. It had been some time since she did that: listen to someone. Each time she found herself together with someone, though rare, they wanted to hear about her; her house, her job, her this and her that. She was done, done talking about her. She craved a moment of togetherness, to sit with a steaming latte between her and someone else and listen.

//

Life is a story of not one, but many. Life is a simple, yet vastly overcomplicated story, woven together with a few pieces of thread. We are all living a story; yes, with different characters, different moments of climax, and different endings, but we all share the common bond of story.

It is a story where we crave togetherness. A good story, the ones we love to read, to hear are made up of more than just a party for one. We need one another. We need to talk, we need to listen. Life is beautiful. And our stories are best lived, best shared with one another. So lets crave together like we crave chocolate.