Transitions in a coffee shop (…and in life)
Now sitting in this coffee shop to write, to be. To clear out the mental junk and be present. Noticing the pretty painting on this window. It shows hands shaking and another hand holding a coffee-making device I don’t know the name of. If I were to communicate something about this moment, I would probably look up its name, learn. Learn something new. Doesn’t seem so relevant now, in this moment. But why not? Okay, looked it up. It’s called a portafilter. For espresso-making, apparently. Or something.
There, learned something. Present with something new. Present with my life, with possibility, with the way I’m twisting my back to sit at this high-top that doesn’t have room underneath for my legs. Not a great position. Wanting to change places, but the next best spot is next to a quietly chatting couple, and I don’t want to disturb them, disturb their space. I like being close to the window.
But this is not a great spot, let’s face it. Not comfortable for my body, not comfortable for writing for an extended period. Not a great spot, but sometimes it seems easier to just stay where we are, to not think about how to get from here to there, even when here is clearly not great for us. Not wanting to make waves or confront the unknowns of a new position. This is natural. This is human. Abiding unpleasant circumstances until they get so awful that we finally muster up the energy and courage to make a change, to deal with the foreseeable and unpredictable hassles of the change.
How to make this transition happen more easily? Don’t disappear during the change. Be present to each moment of it. Don’t just make it suffering, something to get through between here and there. Instead, savor the steps, the pickups, the putdowns, the gathering, the replacing. You got this.
There, did it. What pulled me there: the permission to enjoy the process, to be present with it, to not do whatever else I planned, what I might have done while I transitioned. Put some things on hold, allowed that to be okay while the move was made. It does take energy to transition, to pivot, to remove and relocate, pick up and put down, end and begin. It does take energy, and so we must paint for ourselves, choose for ourselves, invent and make it true for ourselves that the change will be worth it. That there are wonderful possibilities on the other side. Yes, unknowns await, but it is possible that we will love the new place, new career, new state of being, new beginning. There may be downsides, too. That’s okay, I tell myself, I will help you continue on your path until we find a good place to rest for a while. Anyway, it was too hot over there.
This new seat is comfortable, but there is a strange chilly draft. I’ve put on my jacket but my legs are cold. Perhaps this place won’t do so well, either. Better, yes, but not ideal. Do I accept it, accept the chilly wind from the perplexingly placed and turned-on AC vent below this table? I mean, it is better than where I was, and it would take another dose of energy, attention, and effort to move yet again. And what if the new place is no better than this one? Or just uncomfortable in its own ways. I see another table, perhaps less chilly. Should I go? I mean, c’mon, you already went through all that energy to find a place you loved, why not continue, try again, allow another transition. Like Goldilocks: this too much, that too little, this just right. Or perhaps we just keep trying and trying, never finding just right. Maybe we just choose that this is just right, that the windy chill on my legs is what I want. Yes, I could choose that, if I wanted.
But I won’t. I will up and move again, pick up my coffee cup, my water bottle, the iPad on which I write. I will pick up my backpack, too, and move them all once again, with a breath, with a thank-you to the place I’ve been, to the lessons learned, the comforts savored and the moments shared. Yes, I will leave with a thank-you. For everything this was and all it wasn’t. For this moment of living. These moments: movement, then rest, movement, then rest. Bless this sublime journey. Thank you for being this place where I rested for a while, connected, grounded. Thank you and now a heartfelt goodbye, imagining future possibilities and allowing for other things to wait while I make this transition. Over and over, until the final rest reaches us.