Coffeeshop Observations: #3
Feat. The “Flatties”, decaf, and a sub-par burrito
There are great burritos, there are good burritos, and then there’s whatever I happened to get today. It gets the job done, the taste resembles bacon, it appears to be cooked, there’s something like cheese in it, and between sentences I keep going back for more bites, so that all has to count for something right? Yet the soggy tortilla, the generic pink ooze that is theoretically salsa, and the small size just isn’t quite doing it. Usually the last bite of anything tasty is to be savored, to be enjoyed, to be remembered. And on the flip side, the last bite of anything un-tasty usually remains uneaten and left behind because who wants a last bite of something they didn’t like. This burrito however, lies in a sort of purgatory. Neither neglected nor savored but in fact rushed. I was eager to have the last bite and move on because a.) I was (and still am) hungry and b.) the more time I spent actually becoming aware of how bad the burrito was, the less likely I was to eat it which would be problematic because of point a.) above. Alas, the burrito in its entirety is now within me and only time will tell what happens next.
Brew Culture Coffee Burritos: 1
The Laughing Goat Burritos: 0
Moving on.
The views here: excellent. The decaf: first taste of coffee in close to a week, so also excellent. The setup: nostalgic. Laughing Goat Coffee is where I used to spent a large amount of time when I lived in Boulder, and this very table is where a large amount of regrettable blog posts were written. This one is sure to also join those ranks because I’m sitting in the same table as I used to and because, well, you probably know by now.
Moving on.
Therapy is a wild world. Having gone to both a Buddhist-based, spiritual non orthodox guide and a more traditional, pathology based scientific therapist within the last week, I have been left more fascinated and curious than confused and torn, a pleasant surprise. What is mental health? Is it grappling with massive external themes like our species’ place in the universe, our own place and sense of belonging within that species, or even just our place within a family or friend group? Is it grappling with the internal minutia (I say minutia facetiously, internal grapplings are just as deep as the black holes we marvel at in the universe) around why we feel certain ways about people, why we neurotically over think, why we still repeat behaviors learned from childhood, why we feel so strongly about money or airports or sink cleanliness, or why we can’t dislodge clouds that made themselves at home above our spirits. Are the external and internal themes different sides of the same coin? I once read that “humans are the only species for whom their existence is a problem they need to solve” and I have never read a more thought-provoking and resonant sentence. Is the abundance of therapy and awareness around mental health a cure for our life in the West, or a symptom of it? Perhaps we have it wrong with the individualistic, American-dream, go achieve all the things and label all the things and solve all the things and cure all the things and understand all the things and be all the things and think all the things mentality. We’re obsessed with thinking aren’t we. I’m obsessed with thinking. Writing, particularly in these 20 minute spurts is an excellent way to think less for me. And the less I think, the more I am able to be. So thus, I write. You don’t have to keep reading. But I will keep writing. 👋
