Why I love coffee shops

Life wasn’t exciting, but then I realized, it didn’t need to be. I was never meant to be content with excitement. I was never supposed to be overly enthusiastic or energetic. Looking at life now, through these new eyes, I can see that I was never more than discontent always trying to be the most fun and happy person in every group of people I was associated with.

Somehow I built up this reputation as being the friend who always knew of “cool” things to do. I was a riot. Turned out, though, that I wouldn’t contently live up to this reputation. Whoever this hyper, enthusiastic person was that I portrayed, wasn’t me. I have no idea who she is, but I am relieved to say that she is gone now. And I don’t think she’s coming back. Possibly bursts of her will arise, but not as often, or in the way I tried to force them to before.

No life wasn’t exciting like the person I was pretending to be because of this label that had been thrust upon me. And it was because of this reputation and label that I was lost in trying to make life exciting and fun for everyone, when deep down I didn’t know how to do that. It was this constant battle of trying to make myself happy by trying to make others happy by doing things that didn’t actually make me happy.

But here I am now, giving up on all that I tried to do before, sitting in a place that all my friends and family (or so it seems) would not find to be particularly fun. Well, the truth is it’s not “fun,” it’s enjoyable. Pleasant. And sweet. The aura of this room is a rich autumn amber or perhaps a deep plum purple. Everyone sits in small pairs or singly at tables and a sofa. The rain patters the windows as it pours outside, but no one complains of the “bad” weather. They all seem wholeheartedly content with it. However I must acknowledge that this belief about the weather may stem from my own passionate love of the rain.

Not only is this place, Mstreet, great, but so is this rainy time of year. Things just become orderly and cozy. People give out free compliments, and no one is overly concerned with acquiring a bikini body.

So this is it: I am not exciting. I am relaxed. I am not enthusiastic; I am calm. I am not the life of the party; I am the girl on the side seeking out intellect. I am not the singer; I write the songs. I am not the model in the magazine; I take the picture. I am not the rock star on stage; I am the author of the book. I am not at the metal show; I am at the coffee shop down the street listening to indie, folk, and punk performers. I am not dressed in miniskirts; I have a loose faded T-shirt. I don’t drink shots of espresso; I sit and enjoy my tea. I don’t go through the McDonald’s drive-thru; I sit in coffee shops eating bagels. I don’t do my hair; I keep it short and wear hats. I don’t take an hour or more to get ready; I take twenty minutes. I am not the beautiful girl buying diamonds; I’m the girl selling them to her for minimum wage. I don’t drive a convertible; I prefer hybrids and beach cruisers. I am not the girl with caked on make-up; I am the artist who put it there. I am not the girl who smokes pot to escape; I’m the one who sits in the rain. I don’t eat at Islands; I eat at Aroma Café. I am not at the loud parties; I’m making smores at a bonfire.

I am none of those things, and I am all of the other. I would rather sit in a bookstore for ten hours, over going dancing in a Hollywood club any day of the week.