I love writing in this Starbucks. There’s something about the corporate feel of the place that brings out my creativity. An instinctive desire for balance prompts me to dig deeper into the recesses of thought to find something gritty and grimy when I sit here. There are other coffee shops close by more brightly lit with more conventionally attractive people and lots of air plants to take selfies in front of but those places feel so uptight and to me it’s sometimes stifling. It’s a class thing, I’m certain.
That’s why I like this Starbucks; it’s more working class. It’s corporate, of course, but not exactly shiny. It’s tarnished and dirty and hosts a cast of unsavory characters, just how I like it. There’s no particular kind of denim you need to wear to fit in and nobody’s sporting an ironic t-shirt. There are people of color, people of all ages, and people with handicaps. It feels like the good kind of American to me. There are other coffee shops in town with a similar working class feel, but it’s 6:30 and they’re already closed. I can’t respect a coffee shop that closes at 6. This may not be Manhattan, but it’s no Myrtle Creek, either. This Starbucks is full to capacity and we’re only a mile away from that other blue collar shop. Being cosmopolitan or provincial has more to do with your mental space than your physical one, especially these days.
But your physical space matters, too, which is why I’m here at this Starbucks surrounded by regular people reading and writing and doing regular things. It’s a happy medium. And happiness matters. It’s a confusing time to say the least but that’s probably always been true for humans. Can you really think of a time in history when everything seemed dandy? I can’t. There’s always been injustice and uncertainty with apocalyptic possibility never far enough away to feel secure. Still, Steely Dan wrote great songs even while the Cold War raged. Because, even when we know that it all could go to hell in a flash, that there is nothing fixed but the election, that all of our efforts and dreams could be crushed in an arrogant instant, we still have to do what’s inside us to do. That’s the human condition; we are swan diving into the great unknown.
It’s in times like these that we need grace. Remember that you are human and that is a tremendous thing to be. It’s easy to become overwhelmed, to feel stressed and depressed. But, succeed or fail, it matters little from the point of view of falling. What matters is style. You have to choose how you are going to be. Are you going to be happy and peaceful, or are you going to be belligerent and grotesque? Many many things are beyond your power to choose, but you can choose this: will you be kind?
This is a kind of meditation, this practice of grace, and it is a powerful way of being human. Recently, I’ve had the chance to work with some people who embody this sense of style this presence of goodness. While I like drinking my coffee and writing among regular folk, it’s an honor to do photography with some truly beautiful souls.
The kind of beauty I’m talking about is much more than a physical appearance. It’s a disposition towards the universe. It’s an aspiration to be good, to act with a respect for others, to be helpful, to add value, to shine light in dark times, and to be human.