The Duality of a Café Date
What is the significance of coffee? Why do we feel inclined to wear our fur to get an espresso, when our kitchen counter coffee makers work just fine? Last Spring while the weather warmed up, I started my mornings at PlantShed on 12th and 3rd Avenue. I would eavesdrop on conversations that made me think about the subconscious ritual significance of a cup of coffee with a friend in the morning, the afternoon, and, not unusually, in the evenings.
My ears perked up at a conversation between two virgin-haired brunette women who seemed to have a close enough friendship to set aside their New York pride. So often when you ask somebody living in New York City if they are enjoying themselves, they, often insulted, respond with panicked defensiveness, as if there should be no doubt that someone with their witty, rough nature was meant to live in this city. They might insist that they are making the kind of money that they dreamed of making post-grad, naturally, and that their Saturday nights are spent at The Spaniard with a cohesive group of friends whose Sunday scaries are beaten into submission at Corepower. Their conversation involved a tangent in which the woman closest to my window-side wicker floor seat exclaimed “New York, I'm not sure how much longer I can do this”.
This was the first time I perceived New York as a persona, a body that changes and holds various functions, something to be interacted with rather than conceptual body to be spoken about. Someone, like everyone, who doesn’t love everybody they interact with. Something I learned (while watching a high school drama that involved a boy who New York would probably eat in two months with its grid-like teeth) was that people do not like all people. Despite its mundane obviousness, don’t be naïve in thinking this is pessimistic. There is profound relief in this realization, though, to one's dismay, it takes maturity and misfortune to reach it. The exchange entrenched by complaint offered a glimpse into the complexities of New York, introducing an unmoored and confused 18-year-old eavesdropper to the notion that the city itself has a persona shaped by its inhabitants. Its public parks, music niches, endless cafes and wine bars are kind to us; while Hell’s Kitchen on a sunny day in July truly is Hell's Kitchen. I had yet to hear the voice of a stranger distrusting a city that I so desperately had tried to fall in love with for the previous eight months living on 12th Street. Suddenly I could not see the city as my friend anymore, knowing that it had some fleeting enemies gossiping about it. This conversation allowed me to see the truth over a cup of $2.45 drip sometime between 7 and 9 a.m.
“Let's grab a cup of coffee” occasionally meant “let me lay on the truth of my struggle to you”, while last Sunday at Now Or Never on Grand Street, I listened in on a conversation where New York’s relationship with one woman was mutually symbiotic.
She met her friend for coffee, seemingly after a workout, and explained the underrated joys of turning 30 in New York.
“When you turn 30 your life begins. You spend your 20s trying to figure out who you are. Everyone acts like their value diminishes after they turn 26, but then you turn 30 and it's like a goddamn rebirth”.
There’s something ludicrous in analyzing this moment as a 20-year-old college student who doesn’t know a thing about what turning 30 could look like. Although there was only a 12-inch gap between our temporary residence in this cafe, their conversation hit my nervous system seamlessly with my espresso during a week I had mainly spent feeling mislayed.
While in terms of manners, eavesdropping is rude, I have found sanctuary in its timing and consolation when I struggle to see my world objectively. Where will I be in even one month is a question that has been a thorn in my juvenile mind, and while reading a book about techniques to exude creativity that my dear girlfriend lent me, this conversation touched me.
The duality of a café date. Why do we meet with others, and why do we sanction “en solement sometimes” – The benefits one can receive from drinking their espresso in a room full of strangers, discussing the fear of leaving New York, and the joys of their soon-to-be rebirth. I show up for the flavor and energy that my coffee serves me and in turn, receive so much.