This morning, I made the most perfect cup of coffee. The kind you stand there for and actually care about. And in less than five minutes, it was all over my favorite $40 Aritzia white tank top. And yes, I know. Who pays $40 for a basic white tank? That probably should have been what ruined my morning.
But it wasn’t.
What actually hurt was the coffee. I only took one sip. One. And then it was gone.
And just like that, I cried over spilled coffee.
We’ve all heard, “Don’t cry over spilled milk.” But milk is replaceable. You spill it, you pour another glass, and it tastes exactly the same. Coffee isn’t like that. A really good cup of coffee takes intention. The right amount of this, the perfect splash of that. Sometimes you don’t even know how you got it so right. You just know you did.
So yes, I wanted that cup back. Not a new one. Not a remake. That one.
I didn’t want to try again because what if it didn’t taste the same?
And that’s the part that felt familiar.
Because that’s what loss feels like, doesn’t it? Whether it’s a routine, a version of yourself, or a person. You don’t just miss something. You miss that exact version of it.
So what do you do? Decide you’ll never make coffee again because you’re scared it won’t be as good?
No.
You try again. And maybe it’s not the same. Maybe it’s worse. But maybe, just maybe, it’s better. And if it’s terrible? You pour that sh*t out and start over.
That’s how I think about relationships.
Sometimes you really believe someone is your perfect cup. And maybe, in that moment, they were. But if it spills and breaks, you don’t stop believing in coffee. You don’t stop believing in yourself.
You start over.
And honestly? I’m learning that I’m a pretty d*mn good barista.
Love ya, Bye!