I love coffee.
I don’t need it to wake up or stay active at work; I choose to drink it because I love the taste. I don’t rely on the fresh-ground aromas filling my nostrils to start my day, but smell undoubtedly brings forth the day’s first smile. From that smile a ritual was born: filling the kettle, assembling my cracked and chipped french press, the tinkle of coarsely ground beans being poured, waiting to press the mix, the first sip. I love coffee. Whether it’s a fancy brew from a privately owned café, a chain doughnut shop, or a packet of rehydrated crystals in a hotel room, I love it all.
So why would I quit something I love so much? I don’t have any health reasons to stop drinking the liquid luxury. My schedule allows me the time to enjoy the lengthy ritual of french pressing my own java. Sure, I’m chemically addicted to the caffeine, but it’s an addiction I’m more than willing to live with. Simply put, there is no one-sentence reason I can give for why I’m giving up on my great passion. The answer came to me this morning when I was starring contemplatively at the drip brewer.