The Barista
THE UNIVERSE IS ALWAYS WORKING;
BUT YOU STILL MUST ORDER
Some mornings the Universe emails you before you've even had your coffee.
I don't journal like this enough anymore. I don’t mean the gratitude-journal kind, that one's easy, that's basically brushing my teeth at this point. I mean the messy kind. The kind where you just start typing and let whatever wants to come out, come out. I used to do it all the time. Then life got busy and it slipped, the way good habits do when nobody's forcing you to keep them.
This morning I got an email from Mike Dooley, the guy behind Notes from the Universe. It's been landing in my inbox for years, and most days I read it, nod, and go on with my day. This one gave me pause. It followed me right into meditation and wouldn't let go, and by the time I sat down with my coffee I had a lot more to say about it than he did.
I sat down in my usual spot for journaling… the nook by the windows in my Bull Street abode. It was just after sunrise, and the single-pane windows were still foggy from the condensation yet to be evaporated by the warming sun. I could hardly see outside, but that mattered less this morning than it does on other days… I had shit to say, and so I began.
Mike's note was about coffee shops. How they're basically a parody of time and space. You walk in, place an order, trust it'll show up, and you don't hover behind the counter demanding to know how the machine works. That was pretty much the whole point. Ask the Universe, then trust it will happen. Simple. True.
But I kept going with it, because here's what really happens at a coffee shop if you're paying attention to it.
The Same Damn Order
Most of us order the same thing every single time. Not because we love it so much that we can't imagine anything else. Because it's known. It's comfortable. We step up, say the words we've said a hundred times, and something in us relaxes before the drink even shows up. We feel in control. We know exactly what we're getting. There's a whole line of people behind us doing the same thing, ordering their own version of the same damn order, and nobody thinks twice about it. Every. Single. Time.
Here's the part that gets skipped though. Most coffee shops can make about four times what's posted on the board. If it's coffee-related and you can describe it, there's a real chance they've got what they need back there to build it. The menu you're choosing from isn't even the real menu. It's just the part somebody bothered enough to print.
Think about that for a second. You've probably never once asked what's actually possible back there. You just pick from the things printed on the board above the register like that's the ceiling. Meanwhile the whole shop is sitting on more syrups, more milks, more combinations than they'd ever bother listing, because most people never ask. The real menu isn't printed anywhere. You have to want something enough to say it out loud to a stranger holding a marker.
So why don't we ask for more?
Because we fumble. Every damn time. We step up to try something new and suddenly we're aware of the person breathing down our neck in line, aware that our order might sound stupid out loud, aware that we're taking too long deciding between oat milk and coconut and did we really need to add that extra shot. We stand there a second too long, feel foolish for no real reason, and more often than we'd like to admit, we cave and order the usual. Just to get out of the discomfort. Just to stop being looked at.
And get this. The guy behind you? Same drink every time too. And same for the woman behind him. We're all standing in the same line, secretly a little envious of whoever finally just orders the weird thing.
The Name Called Out
Let's pretend for a moment that you push through it anyway. You order the weird thing (even though it's not really that weird, just new to you is all). Now you wait, and this part's almost worse than the ordering was. Because eventually your name gets called, except if you’re like me, it's never actually your name. I like to give them something ridiculous. Spock. Sometimes Doc Holliday, for obvious reasons. Whatever it is, it gets yelled loud enough for half the shop and the restaurant next door to hear, right along with your slightly ridiculous order.
You have to walk up and claim it, in front of everyone who just heard the whole thing. And somebody in that room, after laughing at “Spock,” is thinking, huh, that actually sounds pretty good. I might try that next time.
Meanwhile, back behind the counter, none of that matters to the people making the drink. There's clicking and whirling and hissing going on back there and we have zero idea what any of it means. We just trust that in a couple minutes our name gets called and the thing we asked for shows up exactly the way we described it.
That's the whole ballgame, honestly. I've heard Gabby say some version of this more times than I can count. Place the order. Get out of the way. Let whatever's on the other side of the counter do what it already knows how to do. The Universe is working on your behalf whether you know it or not.
We don't walk behind that counter and show the barista how to run the machine. We don't grab the scissors out of our stylist's hand halfway through a cut. We sure as hell don't climb into an elevator shaft and tell the mechanic how to fix the cables, and we don't stroll up to the crew building a five hundred foot bridge and offer notes. We just trust the finished thing… then, we drive across it without a second thought.
Why We Revert
Here's the line that flat stopped me cold during meditation.
We revert! Even when we're desperate for something different, we revert. Not because we love the old thing. We revert because the old thing is known.
Known feels safe, even when known is exactly what we're trying to get away from. That's why the job we hate keeps getting renewed in our head as “at least it's stable.” That's why we keep circling back to the same relationship pattern, the same city, the same version of ourselves, even mid-way through swearing we want out. It's not weakness. It's just how deeply we're wired to prefer the danger we recognize over the good thing we don't. Our nervous system is comfortable with what it knows… even the icky shit.
And here's the part that's mind boggling. Half the time we're scared of it because it might in-fact be good, or even great, and we don't know how to stand in that yet. Our nervous system gives us a “what the hell are you trying to do here” type of response… so, we revert.
We fumble at the counter a few times. Two or three attempts, maybe more, circling the same order out of habit before we finally push through and ask for the thing we actually want. New coffee, new city, new job, a version of a conversation you've been too scared to have. Doesn't matter the size or meaning of it. The process at the counter is identical.
I've stood at that counter plenty of times in my own life, and not the coffee kind. Sobriety was one of those orders. So was walking away from a version of myself that used to hide behind a mask instead of showing up as an actual person in the room. Both times I circled the usual for way longer than I needed to before I finally said the different thing out loud. On those occasions, once I said it, I had no idea how any of it would happen. I just knew I couldn't keep ordering the same drink and expecting a different Tuesday to unfold.
Order It Up Again
Here's some kickass news you've been told often, and if you're like me… ignored. If what shows up isn't what you thought you wanted, you get to order again. It's a six-dollar drink. It's gone in twenty minutes either way. Nothing about it was permanent, and neither is most of what we're so afraid to reorder in our actual lives.
If your life were a single twenty-four-hour day, at 30 years old, it would put you right around seven in the morning. There's a whole day left. Order it up. Then order it up again, differently, as many times as you need, until you get it right. I mean, why not?! Order it under the name of Indiana Jones or Harley Quinn if you want to give the baristas something to laugh at. Order it up knowing no one is really judging you… that's all in your head.
Just remember the part that's hardest. Once you've placed the order, you must step back and let the machine do what it does. Clicking. Whirling. Hissing. Trust it. The Universe is working whether you choose to see it or not.
I'm not saying any of this is easy. Standing at the counter with your new order half out of your mouth, feeling everyone's eyes on you that probably aren't even looking, that's a real kind of discomfort. But it passes in about ninety seconds, and on the other side of it is a drink you truly wanted to try, instead of the one you settled for out of habit. That trade is worth making, again and again, until it stops feeling like a big deal at all.
DO THE THING
Notice one place in your life where you keep ordering the same thing, not out of love for it, but because it's known and known feels safe.
Let yourself feel a little foolish standing at life’s counter. Discomfort isn't proof you're doing something wrong. It's usually the opposite, in fact.
Place the order, then step the hell back. You don't have to run the machine yourself to trust that it's running.
If what showed up isn't what you wanted, order again. Almost nothing is as permanent as it feels in the moment that you're standing there holding it.
Ask for something out of the ordinary. Chances are good they can make it anyway… and so can the Universe.
Cheers,
Your pal, Kev