25
Today is my 25th birthday, and it's the first time my age has been a perfect square since I was 16. It's been exactly two years since I moved to New York City, though it feels like several lifetimes have passed since lifting my mattress into 309 E 91st St. My life looks so vastly different than when I first moved here; it took some extra effort to be at my former usual coffee shop this morning. For starters, I no longer live around the corner, and my work is no longer fully remote. Despite the extra travel and my time restriction before I need to commute to the office, the ceremony of visiting this place on the same day each year is important to me. Stella and Fly, you are a gem in the city of New York, and a true 10.0 on Beli.
Last year, I was thinking about the importance of savoring moments as I get older. There's a sense of urgency in that writing that reveals a lot about my headspace at the time:
As I sit in my usual coffee shop, my latte slowly cools, and it hits me that everything else around me, currently in its perfect state, will eventually turn cold as well (thank you, thermodynamics).
Yikes. I know where's he's coming from, but my perspective on life is so different now. I think that special moments don't simply happen to you; learning to savor a moment is not the same as learning to create them for yourself. You don't just get a few cups of coffee in life. You always have the option to make another one.
Pastries go stale, and yet bakers wake up at the crack of dawn every day to prepare their famous flaky croissants. The coffee that rests next to my laptop will eventually get cold (okay well, maybe not this one, because I'm going to finish it by the time I write this post), but that doesn't detract from the excitement I have thinking about my morning cup tomorrow. Businesses, relationships, pastries, etc. have a few things in common: they are created by people, with care and contentiousness, and while no two are the same, they are rebuilt again and again. Creation makes us resilient to failure, to grief, to hunger; yet our greatest talent as humans is the ability to create for one another. It's how we keep things warm.
I didn't make this latte that I'm nearly finished with, and I'm grateful it exists. Somewhere behind the counter, someone weighed the beans, dialed the grind, steamed the milk until it sang. I didn’t make this latte, but someone did. On purpose. For me. For whoever walked in next. Getting older might just be noticing the makers and deciding to join them.