It All Counts

Making sense of why I feel this way from a corner in the coffee shop.

I’m sitting at the window in a busy coffee shop. It’s gray, cold, and rainy outside which means my mood is melancholy at best, morose at worst. A family of eleven just walked in, all ages tumbling off the front stoop in their hats and coats and scarves, surprised by the small size of the interior. They have respectfully created a second curve to the order line, children chattering over which muffin or scone will be theirs, adults squinting to see the menu while shuffling forward an inch at a time. Jazzy Christmas music plays softly over the speakers, blending in with the rise and fall of conversation all around me.

The coffee shop from my barstool by the window.

It’s 9:49am on a Tuesday. This coffee shop is normally dead at this time. I know, because I have written here often.

But, it’s the week of Christmas, and despite the weather, people are out. There’s a group of three women behind me who haven’t seen each other since last Christmas. A father/daughter pair to my left, him trying to get her to teach him how to use the Park Mobile app on his phone. Laughter occasionally bursts forth from the tables, but otherwise, everyone is somewhat subdued, snug as a bug in a rug in this warm coffee shop.

There’s no animosity. No frustration. None of the normal irritation or hurry you would feel from a crowd this size on any morning, much less a Tuesday morning. I haven’t even ordered anything because the line was so long when I arrived, but I’m content to curl up in my corner, window watching and writing.

If I have a favorite part of the holiday season, it’s this. For the better part of two weeks at the end of every year, it feels like the entire world slows down, collectively inhales, and slowly exhales kindness, patience, and togetherness.

That breath cycle makes this space feel safe, a balm to my over dialed nervous system. It’s been a challenging few weeks, my daughter’s anxiety rolling out of her in unpredictable ways. I continue to show up for her, even when that performance is ugly, embarrassing, and just flat out ineffective. I feel like I’m on a flight to nowhere, and as someone whose emotional baggage feels excessively heavy this time of year, the added weight of her challenges has me shuffling through my metaphorical airport desperate for a wheelchair, an executive lounge, and a cocktail.

I was excited for the celebration to come, but right now, I’m just grateful for the escape. I need this time. So does my family.

This will be my last post of the year. It feels contradictory to the joy I exuded last week, and I worry that the emotional whiplash is a poor strategy for an end of year message. But, the longer I sit here, safe in my corner of the coffee shop, the more I realize that this is probably the perfect way to end the year. No manufactured happiness. No toxic positivity. No forced cheer.

Just me. In a coffee shop. Trying to get my shit together.

Here’s the thing. You can feel joy one week and exhaustion the next. You can be excited about the possibility of something and disappointed that the possibility did not become the reality. You can be grateful for a cozy coffee shop and underwhelmed by everything else. You can feel empty and everything all at the same time.

Joy has taught me that it’s all valid. It all counts.

So, as the year draws to a close, I wish you the breadth and depth of being fully human in this world. May you have kindness for yourself, patience for others, and togetherness, in whatever way that feels safe, warm, and special to you.

Until next year…

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