the one where i'm crying in a coffee shop + the art of noticing

january 17, 2025

i hope the magic of this drastic change in my life never eases. i hope i am continuously taken aback at my bravery. i hope it always warms my heart when i remember how adacious i am. i hope i am always moved to tears when i remember how easy it would have been to stay but how i chose the path that held the promise of more.

although it is my job as a writer, to put thoughts, experiences, and feelings into words, i find it difficult to do so today. as i sit in this small coffee shop with maybe 10-15 other people in here with me. how a part of community i feel. though i know no names, lives, dreams, or favorite colors. i feel connected. in this space we all have something in common and that feels as important as the connective tissue in my kneecap.

there is a man sitting next to me who can’t stop bouncing his foot on the floor and it reminds me of how antsy my first graders would get right before recess. there are two women sitting in front of me and it was clear that they were meeting up for a coffee and shared friend time. one woman keeps talking with her hands and the other older woman is looking at her and listening intently. both baristas are working with N95 masks on. there is a picture of barack obama on the wall. there is patterned detailing on the ceiling. i look up and think “i want this in my next home, a ceiling with personality.” when i drove past i looked through the window and squealed to my friend on the phone “there’s a black girl sitting inside!” there are a number of plants that have made a home on the counter and the late afternoon winter sun is shining through the big storefront windows and she is here, in community, with us.

there is a older man also sitting in front of me with a full head of white silver hair, the sun is winking and twinkling through it. he’s working on something with a pen and paper, i can’t see what. i imagine it’s a crossword, or sudoku. he’s got a very colorful scarf on. stripes, pinks, purples, greens, blues, and oranges. i imagine a niece, sister, or granddaughter gifted it to him for christmas. it doesn’t match anything else he’s wearing. a mom just walked in with her son, they’re laughing and cracking small jokes. they catch their reflections in the espresso machine. the son pulls out his phone to take a picture of himself and his mom making silly faces. he looks to be about 10, a tall 10 year old because they’re putting something in the food these days. his mom looks like a cool mom. like the mom from princess diaries.

there is a drought of third places, of free third places, so many of us feel alone and disconnected and though i’ve only been in town two weeks now and still don’t know anyone. i feel warm here, i feel at home. emotion wells up within me and tears sting the back of my eyes. i haven’t ‘happy cried’ so much in my life.

i let loose a cleansing breath, “goddamnit i made it??”

i feel like a baby bird who has been frantically flapping her wings for weeks trying to figure out how they work and i’ve just now felt the gentlest wind sweep up under me allowing me to glide. it’s intoxicating. "let's do it again," i hear my inner child whisper. i’m overcoming fears, learning more about myself, trusting myself and following my instincts. i’m shaking and uncertain, but i leaped and i’m here in the sky and that’s something no one can ever take away from me.

i love it here.

is an understatement.

i’m so glad that i made it.

is an understatement.

“thank you for leaping makhela,” i think,

“thank you for daring to have something more,

thank you, for your audacity to try.”

m.