The first cup out of the pot is always the greatest to me. Dark. Strong, the bitter offset with the right amount of smooth. On the third cup of coffee I almost long for it, and even if I poured out the rest of what’s left and started a new pot, it’s not the same as the morning’s first cup.
When I was in my mid twenties I took up golf. No, that’s not a typo. Golf. It was a great way to smoke more cigarettes and drink more beer while doing some sort of “sport”. Before your panties get too wadded up. Let’s be clear. Yes, golf is hard. Yes some people practice and excel at it. Few of us, however, achieve the level of training to ever be considered “athletes” at it. Get over it. If you’re honest, you know I’m right.
I really did enjoy it though. It was a great way to spend 4 hours or so with friends and in my 30’s, my dad and I played a couple times a year, mostly in silence as was our way.
This isn’t about golf though, thank God. It’s about the feeling I’d get around hole 13 or so every time. I used to tell my friend Bartley that I’d get sad that we were almost done. That it was almost over. This is the same feeling I get when the first cup of coffee is almost gone. A longing for more, but knowing it won’t be as good. Weird huh?
As I got further into cycling, There’s a double, S curved section on river road in Baton Rouge. A shady spot where cyclists have been killed. When I’m riding, this spot shields the wind, the sun blocked for a moment and a quietness falls over me, I’m always sad that the ride is almost over. It’s the same feeling.
The closest thing I can come to it is “longing”. I think that’s a beautiful word and way to describe a feeling. It nails it for me. Longing propels me some times. Forward usually.
We spend an enormous amounts of our lives hurrying on to the next one.
“If I could only.”
“If I just could change.”
“Thing will be different when...”
On to the next version of ourselves that we’ve thought up. Or maybe just I do.
Longing to be. To be something we aren’t. To fill in the holes we perceive in ourselves.
At 4:13 a.m. I made a pot of coffee and thought to myself like I have a hundred times over the last week. “I’m just not going to ever change those parts of me that I’ve been trying to for years. That’s who you are.” I’d be lying to myself otherwise.
I pour the single best cup of coffee of the day and start worrying about the third cup, negating the awesome of the present. <—— that is the definition of wasting. Of wasting a moment by wishing it were better than.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m happier than I’ve been. I try and push out the longing and the less thans, but they’re as big a part of me as the deep brown of my eyes and that’s okay. I think that’s the goal.
That it’s okay.
Long less.
You’re missing the last 5 holes.
#hugsandhi5s
