Yes, two-headed sharks are real. You can read about the problem here. Meanwhile, we’re staying away from the beach.
Think of coffee as a metaphor for that which motivates you. Now, how full is your cup?
If you know me, live and in person, chances are pretty high we have chatted at some point over a cup of coffee. Coffee has been a staple in my diet since I was a teenager and is, most notably, a central part of almost any social event or occasion in which I might participate. I take coffee so seriously that my fiancè used to work at Starbucks, we buy multiple pounds of beans, and we fresh grind every pot we make. We don’t do sloppy coffee.
I can make do without a lot of things, but coffee isn’t one of them. I need that hot, black, motivating liquid in my life or I’m not a pleasant person. Not that the coffee itself makes me happy, but being without it makes me more irritable than normal. Coffee is an important part of my life.
Chances are, coffee is an important part of your life as well. How many people have I met for the first time at a coffee shop? There are new coffee shops popping up all the time, as well. I saw just this morning a request from a new coffee shop for wall art. There are mobile coffee trucks that make the rounds. And in places other than Indiana, there are coffee shops specifically for those with an S&M kink in their lifestyle. I’ve even heard of coffee shops with attractive baristas that were topless, but I’m not sure they’re still in business. Coffee is an important part of American life.
While I probably could sit here and sing the praises of coffee all day, that is not my purpose. I want you to think of coffee as a metaphor for everything that motivates you. Whether you are pushed forward by a sense of obligation, or family, or finances, or something esoteric, compare what that element does for you and then put coffee in its place.
Think of how dependent you are on the things that motivate you. Consider how encouraging those motivators are. When you wake up in the morning feeling tired and groggy, those motivators are what convince you to put your feet on the floor, get dressed, and start your day. When you hit a slump in the middle of the afternoon and just want to give up, those motivators are what keep you going, push you forward.
We all have something that motivates us to do what we do. Like coffee, they empower us, make us happy, and give us a sense that all is right in the world. Â Coffee and motivation seem like a good combination.
Now, imagine that you wake up one morning and are out of coffee. The motivation is gone. You’re not sure how it happened. There was plenty of coffee yesterday. You’re not aware of anyone stealing your coffee. You’re not sure what happened, but the coffee is gone. Can there be a bigger personal disaster?
Thankfully, we’re not there yet, but that seems to be where we’re headed. Like peering into my cup and finding it less than half-full, I worry that we’re running out of coffee and there’s not going to be another pot made anytime soon. The bag of beans is empty.
We’re forced to make some difficult decisions. Do we go somewhere else for coffee, even if that means a complete change in style and roast? Do we try doing without coffee for a few days in hopes that our coffee might magically return? Or do we move to Brazil and grow the damn beans ourselves? Dealing with a loss of motivation puts us in a precarious place of potentially upending our lives in search  of a reason to continue.
This is where I’m at this morning: there’s not much coffee left in my cup. I’m running out and I’m not sure I even want to make another pot. What motivated me in the past just doesn’t have the same pull now. I need more depth of meaning. I need stronger justification. I need to avoid those blends that leave a bad feeling in my stomach. As I take another sip from the cup, I realize this coffee isn’t as satisfying as it was when the cup was fresh.
I drink the bottom half of this cup more slowly. I don’t want to run out because I’m not sure I’ll like what replaces it. Coffee cups don’t stay empty for long. There’s always a barista or someone running around refilling everyone’s cup. They don’t always know what you’re drinking, though.
True story: I stopped by an IHOP Sunday night hoping to get some quiet reading time. I ordered a cup of coffee and opened my book. The waitress soon appeared with a fresh cup of coffee and set it on the table. I waited a few seconds then took a sip. This wasn’t coffee. This was tea. I knew it before the rim of the cup hit my  lips. This wasn’t what I ordered.
I don’t want tea in my cup. I’m sure of that. Granted, tea is the same color as coffee, has as much or more caffeine as coffee, can be modified in ways similar to coffee, and at times is a much more flexible drink than coffee. Still, tea is not coffee, is it? The two taste quite different.
Motivation is the same way. Not everyone sees the change the same way. What appears to be an even adjustment on the surface may mask the fact that a new motivator is not nearly as effective as the previous one. Changing what motivates us can change our mood, our willingness to cooperate, our desire to push forward. Change can take us from democracy to fascism. Change can take the free and make them slaves. No matter how well slaves might be treated, it’s still slavery. Do we really want to substitute our coffee for tea?
Do you understand what I’m saying? I almost feel as though I’m writing in riddles this morning. The problem with metaphors is that not everyone sees the connections the same way I do. What coffee is to motivation might be totally lost on everyone except me. You may not have understood a word I’ve said. You might be sitting here totally confused.
Know that just as my coffee cup will soon be empty, my motivation is in a similar state. Â I’m almost empty. I’m not sure things will be the same tomorrow. Maybe there’s more coffee in the pot. Maybe not.
Tomorrow may be different. Maybe I’ll just drink water. Go ahead, chase that metaphor if you will. Â My cup is almost empty and I’m not sure I’m getting a refill.
Relationships and conversations, like an open bottle of wine, have a point at which they are of no use to anyone
I was not raised in a house that understood wine. Sure, there was an academic knowledge of how it is made but beyond that, there was a fierce denial that wine could have any positive qualities at all. Our family not only didn’t drink, but we were raised to avoid anyone who did for fear they might be a “bad influence” on us, or drag down our reputation.
Then, I had my first glass of the real thing. Sweet. Red. Low alcohol content. I discovered that I could enjoy the glass presented with my desert and, contrary to all my mother’s warnings, not instantly become a gutter-hugging drunk. A few days later, I tried a glass of merlot with a meal and fell in love. I suddenly wanted to know everything about wine. I read. I talked to sommeliers. I went to tastings. We even bought a wine rack that was shaped like a cluster of grapes.
Normally, a bottle of wine never lasted more than 24 hours once it was opened. We enjoyed the wine too much to let any dregs sit in a bottle. One day, however, I was going through the wine rack looking for a specific vintage and came across a bottle that had been opened and then returned. When it had been opened, I didn’t know. Who had opened it was a mystery. The bottle was still almost full, less than half a glass had been removed. So, I took the bottle, removed the cork, and promptly took three steps back. The wine had turned to vinegar, and not a pleasant vinegar at that. Down the sink went the remains.
I bring up that subject because this weekend is one of those times when we can be tempted to re-open the old bottles of wine in our lives. With Valentine’s Day, we can be tempted to re-open past conversations, re-visit past relationships, things that we have left behind for good reason, but still wonder if they might yet be salvaged. The answer in most cases is no, they can’t. Like wine that has been opened, those things from the past have only soured.
One of the worst mistakes I made when I was younger was to re-open conversations that had been set aside. These would be tense words where no solution had been found, where walking away and not mentioning the matter had been the best solution. Conversations involving matters of human rights, religion, or constructs of government were topics that I frequently, and incorrectly, thought I had under command. I always thought I was right. Why else would I revisit  a topic if I wasn’t sure that I needed to correct a gross misunderstanding?
I can be a slow learner sometimes and didn’t realize that there are moments where being right or wrong on a topic is irrelevant. Acquaintances who were once friendly became distant and found reasons to avoid contact when they feared I might yet, again, bring up a conversation that had been uncomfortable or contentious. I was sadly oblivious to the social vinegar I was asking, forcing, others to drink.
Even worse can be when we return to past relationships. When I’m looking through old pictures, such as the two used here that are over ten years old, I often think to myself, “I wonder what they are doing now?” For better or worse, social media makes it easier than ever to answer that question. I’ll find someone on Facebook, or, far too frequently, LinkedIn will insist that I need to connect with someone I had willfully forgotten. Many times I am tempted to click that button, to make a new friend request, but I’ve learned to leave those old relationships alone and just enjoy the memories. If we have not spoken for years, there is quite likely a very good reason.
As I get older, I sometimes regret letting relationships grow sour, especially when a simple apology might have negated ill feelings in the first place. One sits and looks at that old bottle of wine wondering if it might yet be salvaged. Is it too late to apologize? If an apology is offered, will it be accepted?
Occasionally, I’ll come across an article (like this one) that claims to have a solution for “fixing” wine that has gone bad; it’s a nice dream, but I’ve not found one yet that actually works. Sure, we all like the fairy tale of lost souls finding each other again after all the years and falling in love, or becoming close friends. Sometimes the risk pays off and if that old bottle of wine represents a relationship with a family member, then perhaps taking the risk is justified.
Still, more often than not, it’s best to just not re-open those old bottles at all. Enjoy the memories of the wine when it was good. Keep the bottle as a token of a special time if you wish. But should you open that bottle, be prepared for the reality that all you’re likely to get is vinegar.
INTENSITY (2012). Model: Cole Prosper
[one_half padding=”4px 10px 0 4px”]There comes a time, or two, or more, when one has to look at their life, their circumstances, and maybe even the people in their lives, and decide to make some changes, or “dust my broom.” An exact etymology of the phrase was difficult to find, but it seems to go back quite ways, which seems to make sense. I can just imagine some poor woman of the 15th or 16th century stepping to the door of her humble little house and shaking out all the dirt the broom had picked up while being dragged across the floor. Dusting the broom was just a natural part of cleaning house. “Cleaning house” is a natural part of our lives as well.
We see people dust their brooms today when they prune their social media friends lists. We collect names because they make our numbers look good, but over time we realize those names and numbers are not only doing us no good, but may even be causing some of our problems. When we hit that realization, often in a fit of frustration, we clean house and dust our broom. I did that very thing back at the beginning of the year, culling over 1,000 names that were little more than numbers. Fewer than ten asked to be re-instated. Those numbers were obviously little more than dead weight.[/one_half]
[one_half_last padding=”4px 4px 0 10px”]If one digs down and examines the phrase, we realize that dusting the broom is the final act of cleaning house. When cleaning house, you need the broom handy to get all the dust and muck and dead spider skeletons out of all the corners and from under all the furniture. You gather everything up in a pile, dump the bulk into the garbage, and then dust the broom. Get rid of the big stuff first, and then shake off the little stuff that wants to cling on and cause more trouble. Who knew there could be such deep, introspective meaning to a Blues song?
Tuesdays seem like they might be a good time to dust the broom. Monday delivers a lot of garbage and we tend to let that mess just accumulate and stack up. Time to get rid of it all. Sweep out the nonsense, tidy things up, and put everything back in order so you can get on with your week. Dusting your broom is an act of empowerment, you taking action to put your life back in balance, being done with yesterday’s dirt, and moving on. So grab that broom, shake the dust out, and then put on some blues. We’ll all feel better for having done so.[/one_half_last]