For The Love Of Coffee.

I Used To Hate Coffee. Now I Love It. After avoiding it for so long, my long coffee journey has become so much more meaningful than what’s in the cup.

A friend got arrested in San Diego several years back. That’s an odd, non-violent story I’ll share at some point. I was 23, visiting Johnny B who had moved out west for a post-college adventure. John and I had been friends off and on since we were 5. Our parents knew each other. I think we were in the same kindergarten class but it wasn’t until high school cross country where he and I truly bonded. Truly one of my favorite people and one of my first real friends. John introduced me to Brian, another amazing friend. Brian was with us when our other friend was arrested, around 2 AM after a night out. 

We weren’t quite sure what to do. So we stayed up all night trying to figure it out. At one point we were sitting in a diner. The sun was up. Knowing it was going to be a long day ahead with no sleep, I figured I’d order coffee. That will keep me awake. Nope. It was horrible, probably the worst thing I had ever tasted. Worse than the sheep brain I tried in Greece trying to impress a girl and all the older kids on the school-sponsored trip — it didn’t work. 

There, in a diner that reminded me of the opening and closing scenes from Pulp Fiction, I must have put six packets of sugar in the cup, trying to force the cup down. I drank half. Even with all that sugar. 

It was very unpleasant and bitter. 

That was my first cup of coffee. And my last. Or so I told myself. I abided by that rule, surviving several early morning radio stints forgoing coffee in favor of soda, going through several two liters per week. 

Morning radio requires early wake-up calls, at least it has for me, as early as 2:30 am in order to be prepared enough to meet my high standards. All without coffee.

Until five years ago. 

I used to be a picky eater. No, it was bad. Ask anyone who knew me back in my 20s. I ate as simple as you could. Cheeseburgers. Cheese Pizza. Sweets. It was all basic and "safe.'' I never challenged myself. Until — this may read a little silly — I worked at the Olive Garden. 

I was a server for about a year after I started working at a radio station. I was aiming to supplement my $17,000 per year salary that was barely enough to live on given that I was $30,000 in credit card debt and had a car payment. At the time, I believed every job a college graduate gets would pay at least $50,000.

Ooops. That’s a lesson for another day. 

At the Olive Garden, I had to eat every dish on the menu, most of which I never would have tried, including seafood. And I liked it. Like Mikey and Life Cereal. Now, I’ll try anything. In addition to trying that sheep brain when I was 14, I’ve eaten elk heart harvested by my radio and video co-host Mike, and raw chicken liver in Japan.

Because I opened my mind. 

This brings me to coffee. 

Mrs. Hunter is a coffee drinker. Matter of fact, the first coffee shop I went to was with her. As if often the case, Mrs. Hunter introduces me to new things, sometimes I don’t adopt them for years after. This coffee shop was a dope spot on the Boston Common, across from the Massachusetts State House. I was hesitant to go because it was way outside my comfort zone. But, Mrs. Hunter is smart and cute, so to the coffee shop I went. While we went to Emerson College, we went there a few times, always having great conversations around Chai Teas. The spot has been closed for a while now, sadly.

It was there where Mrs. Hunter

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got me into coffee-adjacent drinks. Chai Tea being the first. Then there were lattes and cappuccino. The sweeter, the better for me. 

This is why my transition to coffee makes sense. 

Five years ago while over at our friend Pamela and Kris’ house, Pamela piqued my interest in cold brew with her special trick. Line the glass with Hershey’s syrup. 

The smoothness of the cold brew paired with the silky chocolate of Hershey’s was a tolerable blend. No, not just tolerable. Enjoyable. I love these moments of life. Moments that change your perspective completely. Moments when you realize sometimes all the pieces of the puzzle, the journey line up. 

These are moments when your identity reveals itself. Revealing itself through a memory, a memory that served as a warning, a reminder of something you didn’t like. Or the opposite. 

So when I’d think about coffee my body would send those same signals it sent me as I forced a sip of coffee in that San Diego diner after my friend was arrested, 15 years ago. Coffee is disgusting. Don’t ever drink it again. That’s quite a belief, a belief that had power over me for 15 years. Because of it, I refused to even consider trying coffee again. 

I formed a bond with that belief, that coffee was disgusting, secretly wondering why millions of people drink it daily. Coffee was just too bitter for me. 

At 23 while hating on coffee, I drank my share of beer. Back then it was either Miller Lite or Coors Lite. Until my father-in-law, Dave introduced me to red ales with Killian’s Irish Red. Man, did those taste better than lite beers, full of malty flavors. Reds later led me to the lovely bitterness of IPAs. That led to a love of locally-made craft beer and a podcast Mike and I do called The Brewmance. We have conversations there like we’ve always done over craft beer-open minded, accepting, and honest. 

The more IPAs you drink, the more you get used to the bitterness. My taste buds have changed, probably because the enjoyment of the bitter flavor had developed with both age and beer. 

Change is inevitable. 

That’s what happened to me with coffee. I changed my mind after giving it another chance. Now, I happily identify with millions of other coffee drinkers, as I sip at least 3 cups per day, simply because I enjoy it.

The richness.

The boldness.

The unique taste.

This was only possible because I considered a different possibility. Especially with Hershey’s chocolate syrup as a chaser. There’s a lesson there, too. 

Sometimes you have to ease your way into opening your mind with a sweetener to moderate the bitterness of trying again. This may seem like a small moment, one year in the making, but the moment is when they all come together. The memories of the first coffee shop. The memories of that first cup, of the conversations over the bitter IPAs, to the coffee I enjoy every morning. Enjoying coffee reminds me of the wisdom I’ve gained by letting go of past beliefs, including the most powerful belief in my life: I’m not good enough. 

Maybe wisdom does come from small moments, especially if you create a reminder habit around a ritual such as drinking coffee, as Painted Porch Strategies Mindfulness Sherpa, Sierra suggests here.

Maybe looking back towards a small moment, where you changed your mind about something, could provide insight, even if it is a small one, into what you identify as or with.

Your identity doesn’t have to be what you believe it to be right now. Flip the script. Be open to other possibilities.

For me, after years of trying to get this ritual right, I finally have figured out my daily gratitude reminder, grateful for the wisdom I’ve gained. There really are lessons everywhere — even in coffee. 

Maybe 38 years is a long time to learn a lesson, but for me, it came at the perfect time, when I was ready to accept the wisdom in the cup if you will.

I love coffee. I love life because of the small things. And I no longer believe I’m not good enough. Neither should you.