Senior year of college, I became the proud owner of a secondhand Keurig coffee maker (courtesy of my mother, who decided to upgrade). It was red and shiny and glorious. I was convinced that it would earn me eternal goodwill from my five roommates, which was something I definitely needed since I was always experimenting with cooking weird things in the kitchen and, if we’re being honest, cut corners when it was my turn to vacuum. But I barely used the coffee maker. Sure, I made the occasional cup, but when I really needed a caffeine boost, I much preferred an espresso drink at the college coffee shop (frugality wasn’t fully on my radar at that point…). I also typically needed that caffeine boost halfway through the day when I was on campus between classes, and I definitely didn’t have my shit together enough to make coffee that morning for later in the afternoon—I was lucky if I had a clean mug in the kitchen at all. So the Keurig sat under-utilized all year. When I graduated, I moved it with me, convinced that as a real-life adult, I’d need to up my coffee intake. I even bought a cute drawer to put underneath it and store the K-cups. But again, I barely used it. I didn’t particularly like the coffee when I did make it (I’ve never been a huge coffee drinker), and the machine had a habit of leaking water and under-filling my cup. So when I moved to a new apartment, I decided to get rid of the machine, and I gave the K-cup drawer to my mom. But in my new apartment, with the Keurig gone, a funny thing happened…
I found myself making coffee again. Not every morning, but I had never made it every morning anyway (we get free coffee at work, but it’s not very good, so I usually just drink tea). Coffee became a treat for me. I had a little pour-over travel brewer that made a mug at a time (also courtesy of my mom, who seems to own all coffee paraphernalia known to man).
I’d buy fun coffee blends and drink it with my weekend pancakes—another treat I cherish. At a certain point, a coworker gave me her old manual burr grinder, so I could grind my own beans for fresher coffee. As the months wore on, I was drinking more coffee than ever, and I was enjoying it. I bought a multi-cup pour-over coffee maker so that I could make several cups at once (a necessity when my coffee addict mom visited). Finally, between the hot coffee and making my own cold brew, I decided I needed an electric coffee grinder. Lo and behold, Mom had an old one! I swear, that woman has a Mary Poppins purse of a kitchen cabinet…
So now, I have no Keurig. Instead, I devote the same amount of space on my counter to an electric coffee grinder and several flavored syrups, along with my electric water kettle. I didn’t end up downsizing my kitchen appliances because I accumulated more coffee making supplies. But I’m still happier than with that red Keurig, and I asked myself why.
I finally realized that half of the reason I appreciate my coffee now is the work involved. It’s the simple ritual of grinding beans and pouring hot water as my pancake griddle heats up or I make my breakfast before work. The Keurig was always a convenience, and whether the coffee wasn’t as fresh or I didn’t appreciate it without putting in my own effort (I’m not a coffee connoisseur, so it’s likely the latter), it was a convenience that didn’t add anything to my life. Getting rid of it added space. Not to my counter in the end, but to my mental clutter. And now, the coffee itself delivers caffeine, but the ritual beforehand provides a meditative start to my day, where I can follow rote steps without needing to think.
I’ve read plenty of articles from experts that recommend waking up early to get a slower start to your day, devoid of distraction and electronics. I’m sure this approach is helpful, and maybe eventually I’ll work up to having the willpower to take it, but right now, an extra 30 minutes in bed is way too valuable. In the meantime, I have a mini version of that slow morning in my coffee routine, and it’s a routine that I cherish. Recognizing the benefits of that basic routine, I’m trying to find other places in my life where slowing down is helpful. While counterintuitive, I’m happier with the “hassle” of low-tech coffee making. We’re constantly bombarded by things that supposedly make our life better by making it easier. Dog-walking services, wash and fold laundry delivery, ready made meals. I’m not denying that these things have a place—grocery delivery was indispensible when I fractured my foot. But relying on these conveniences too much has a negative effect on quality of life, not to mention draining your wallet.
My hope is that this coffee ritual will be the gateway action that helps me slowly adopt other slower, deliberate activities in the morning so that I don’t start my day rushing to get ready, checking emails on my phone while I brush my teeth, and eating breakfast in the car. I’ve always been someone who gets burnt out easily if I don’t consciously bolster my mental health, and it was pleasantly surprising to realize that changing something as minor as my coffee-making habits could have an effect on that. That mental clarity and centeredness trickle through other parts of my life—if I’m not stressed at the beginning of the day, I’m able to get more work done. If I’m productive at work, I don’t end up rushed and frazzled at the end of the workday. If I leave work and I’m not mentally drained, I’m less likely to skip the long walk with my dog before dinner, and more likely to cook something rather than guiltily try to justify food delivery. Which in turn affects my health and contributes to getting a good night’s sleep, which then makes my next morning better. Which makes it more likely that I have time to go through my coffee routine. See the pattern? It can be an ugly circle of cause and effect if I get on the wrong circuit, but when one thing goes right, it sets up a domino effect for further success. Am I going to magically eliminate all stress by making my own coffee? Of course not. But I can at least increase the likelihood of reducing that stress and the siren calls of bad decisions.