For a while I worked on drinking coffee. It seemed like an important part of navigating an adult social life, and if drinking coffee was what it took, a coffee drinker I would become. I gave it the old college try for a few months, and although I wasn't sure what goal I should be working towards (an inability to function without the ubiquitous beverage?) I worked valiantly toward something.
Valiant might be too strong a word to describe my efforts. I did develop a coffee appreciation after a while, but I never became a certified, card-carrying coffee drinker. Maybe I would have gotten there with more time. But it's winter and I need something warm to drink on cold mornings, and I felt no desire to fill my kitchen with the many accouterments of the coffee preparation process. One week I had tea at the homes of two friends, and I decided coffee had had its chance.
I went to the store. I came home with a blueberry green tea that, I'll admit, I bought mostly because I liked the tin it came in; I also bought a box with a variety of fruit teas, so that I can begin deciding my preferences. That was all it took - at home I already had a kettle, an assortment of mugs, and a small pitcher in which to keep a dedicated supply of sugar-for-tea. Tea is a simple, undemanding drink. Now I can feel like a proper adult without all the pressures that coffee drinking seemed to carry.
I've had a small painting of a green teapot on my counter for a long time, a gift from my mother several years ago. Now my small collection of tea sits alongside it, and it looks like it was meant to be. If anyone asks, I might pretend that I planned it that way all along.
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