COFFEE FRIDAY: "Invisible Me"

Invisible Me

By Judith Cullen

© 2014

Is it just me?  Am I getting old?  I accept that with maturity come certain challenges with “data retrieval.”  I am starting to wonder if it is more than just the natural evolution from the laser-like certainties of your 20s and 30s to the accumulated wisdom of life at its median and beyond.  I have gained so much in 50 plus years in wisdom, patience, and knowledge.  Now if I could just remember it all!

Do you ever get the feeling that no one is paying attention?  People seem so overcome, overwhelmed, and overexposed in the Digital Age that they cannot fully take in all the information buffeting them 24/7.  It seems like daily I send a communication and the reply makes it clear that the person did not entirely read or comprehend the message.  Sometimes it is in conversation.  Sometimes it happens multiple times. I end up replying and restating (or copying and re-pasting) the same thing again.  I start to wonder if I am losing my grip on language.  I want to scream, “Pay Attention!”  

This is not wholly about getting older. I expect these sorts of still-frustrating communication glitches with my 83 year old Mother.  In the natural course of things, some misunderstandings are inevitable. I also think that the near epidemic frequency with which this seems to happen to myself and others these days is a product our times in general. 

We are so bombarded with IMs, tweets, posts, plurks and blurbs that it all becomes a mess and, in our rush to try and keep up, we sacrifice comprehension.  There are so many people out there “communicating” – just firing their messages into the ether like so many poorly aimed arrows - that it all becomes the intellectual equivalent of packing peanuts.  Remember when a 30 second news flash was a rush?  These days it is a leisurely stroll when compared to 140 characters, including the spaces.  

I do it myself, I admit it.  I react or respond to something and then go back and take a second look only to realize that I completely misunderstood. The capacity of the human brain is infinite, taken as a whole.  But at any given moment, there’s only so much you can effectively take in.

So I share the invocation I have begun for myself with you: Slow down!  Life is not passing you by if you take a moment to absorb it.  Be thoughtful. The older you get the more doubt becomes a constant companion, so be generous in giving the benefit there of. Asking clarifying questions is okay.  But in the mean time, be sure and give attention to the important stuff and the people that matter in your life.  And when the inevitable misunderstanding happens (where two or three are gathered together, someone’s going to not get it the first time around) be gracious. 

Maybe we should spend less time “communicating” and more time just talking and listening together.

No one likes to feel like they are howling to the wind.  No one likes to feel invisible. 

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 NOTE:  Looks like Sunday I will be streaming at three different times: 10am, Noon, and 4pm.  Look for a post Saturday to confirm this.

(COFFEE FRIDAYS = my weekly trip to a local coffee shop with my laptop to get a change of scene and refresh my literary batteries with multiple large mochas, no whipped cream.)

COFFEE FRIDAY: Coffee Shop Talk

Coffee Shop Talk
by Judith Cullen
(c) 2014

Coffee shops predate the proliferation we think of as the Starbucks explosion.  Coffee shop culture goes back well into the 19^th century and, like cafe culture, has existed seemingly forever in Europe.  Like pubs and taverns, even the most corporate places strive for a certain “local watering hole” quality.  The best of them seem to have the same successful ambience: clean, friendly places where the really good baristas know the customers by name and favorite beverage.  It’s a mix of the familiar, the intimate, and the anonymous.

Restaurants are not the same.  In a restaurant a bubble of privacy forms around your table, intruded upon only by the wait staff.  Depending on the class of the restaurant, conversation is uttered in lowered voices, even leaning in to one another.  It is outré, a gross violation of manners, to have a boisterous conversation that bursts into other diner’s bubbles. While acceptable volume levels vary by establishment, it is most assuredly not good form to be a bubble breaker.  Pay attention!

In many coffee shops, especially in locally owned stores, there is a unique blend that comes from more than the roaster.  It can be both treacherous and invigorating. Like the public house, communities of acquaintance spring up.  Customers not only are known, but come to know one another: greeting each other with warmth, asking after family, inquiring about projects.  Voices are raised in greeting, much like the mythical bar of 1980s television fame, “Norm!”

Yet, at the same time, intimacy exists like subtext: an undercurrent skimming beneath the more public surface.  People lean together, having very personal, very private conversations.  The coffee shop is neutral territory where the public-private combination allows for revelation in a controlled, somewhat calm environment.  I am sure that it happens, but when was the last time you saw someone toss a cup of coffee at someone and storm out the door?  In the coffee shop, when the dial skews to “private,” we invoke our “restaurant manners.” 

Coffee shops become ad hoc conference rooms.  Recently, I observed two leggy blondes walk in with a tall, impeccably suited gentlemen.  They’d arrived in separate vehicle. After the pleasantries of beverage purchasing, the meeting was called to order with all the decorum of a corporate convocation.  Websites, branding, and strategy being pointedly and rapidly reviewed, discussed, and recorded before moving on.  The shop had been fairly empty at the time.  Had it been busier, the meeting would have been absorbed by the public-private anonymity of the shop.  I don’t believe that Roberts’ Rules were being observed, but if they had, Mr. Roberts would have been blowing on his low-fat cappuccino before sipping it, along with the others.

Listening in is rude, I admit it.  But sometimes, when one “goes for coffee” and works solo, it is hard not to hear snippets of the life teaming all around you, breathing in and out, repressing and expressing - mostly expressing.  The coffee shop is safe. 

“Man, I lived here in the 90s.  I’m not afraid of guns.”

“I don’t know how to manage her negativity.”

“You know, we’ll be sending out invites and I’d love for you to come.”

“Oh yeah, I worked on your house!”

“Hey!  World of War Craft!  That was you!”

“She was so cute this morning, she almost cried.”

There are unspoken rules in the coffee shop.  If you come to work, or use the Wifi, it’s polite to buy something – a cup of coffee, a bagel.  It’s also considered polite to clean up your mess.  Pick up your newspaper, bus your debris.  The staff is rarely in a position to wipe up after the volume of lives, known and unknown, coming in and out. 

Above all, observe and learn.  Open yourself to understanding the diversity of intent surrounding you, the differences between the public and private moments in a coffee shop.  Learn to discern the distinction between something that could include you, where you chime in as a member of a joyous community of stimulant drinkers, and a moment between individuals which is not inclusive. If it feels it might be an intrusion, it probably is. Mistakes are inevitable.  Smiling in polite acknowledgement is always in the best taste.  People will forget a blundering comment, but a smile enriches their day long after they’ve moved on.

Above all, respect the life around you: loud, soft, communal, intimate, sensitive, and completely clueless. It’s not a substitute for living your own life, but it is a marvelous sampling.  It is a great opportunity to gain perspective. 

“Mocha no whipped cream, please.”

By Judith Cullen © 2014

COFFEE FRIDAY: An Essay in Favor of Joyous Celebration

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

Yes, I celebrate my own birthday.  Being alive is still better than the alternative. Remarkably, I have garnered criticism for it over the years. “It’s all about you!” as if being glad to have been born, to be alive, is some kind of ego trip.  Well YEAH!  It’s my birthday!  

The older I get, the less I care about those critics, a true sign of “aging,” though my consciousness of those censures still lingers. If individuals have a problem with my birthday - the fact that I openly, unabashedly celebrate it - I think the issues of ego are theirs own, not mine.

We are all products of our childhood, and the subsequent paths we travel. I had a pretty good childhood, despite what many would consider obstacles. When I was elementary age, my father was laid-off.  My Mom had to go back to work, two kids in public school, and my Father went back to school for retraining at the age of 40.  That does not sound so bad in the context of 2014, but this was 1971 and it was a whole different world then. Having lived through similar times in my adult life, I have a keen appreciation for what my parents must have gone through.  I doubt they would have seen themselves on the cutting edge of a revolution in modern family living.  They were too preoccupied with paying the mortgage, keeping the lights on, feeding and clothing themselves and their children. 

The one thing my folks did an outstanding job of was celebrating.  They were children of The Great Depression.  They had “gone without” before.  That lack did not stop them from celebrating.  They taught my sister and I that you didn’t need a lot of trappings and things to be festive.  They taught us that being joyous was a gift: a gift to one’s self, a gift worth sharing.  

This morning, I walked into the kitchen, kissed my Mom on the forehead and said, "Thank you." 

"What for?" was her early morning reply.

"For having me," was my smiling response.

So, yes: Happy Birthday!  I am alive!  I am not going to sit somewhere meekly and just hope someone notices.  I am going to share my joy with whoever wants to join me.  If you are not among those people, great!  Have a good day.  As for the rest of you emotionally unencumbered, generous souls, “wanna piece of my cake?”

(c) 2014 by Judith Cullen