Today the shop was busy again, so busy that you almost couldn’t hear what folks were saying. Lines long all morning, lots of excitement and fun. There were only two difficult guests, and what you don’t see that I see when I’m helping out the line, this is an absolutely equal and amazing fabric of life from almost all parts of our world. So many cultures, identities and incredibly unique personalities. I count them all as friends, helping everyone get their orders. Their needs are my own. I love this job. I thought about trying to paint some of the regulars, but we have so many.
I think I helped at least a hundred people today, and from what I could tell everyone got what they wanted. There was one case of mild harassment, inexcusable but childish. I shrugged it off. All in all it was amazing. I learned that I might be leaving the morning shift, but I’ll be handling the morning rush for at least a week. That’s longer than I expected but I think I made a difference. The shop is back on its feet and humming. We’re doing well. I’m so grateful for Peets and all it’s allowed me time to grow in.
It’s a hard job but it’s amazing. And if you ever see me struggling it’s because I’m so focused on listening and reading all of the signals around us to help our team. We did well this morning, and that gives me such joy. It may be strange for blog readers to see both the practical, work focused writing I have in my thoughts about this amazing coffee shop, but it’s necessary. Peace work requires specific detail pragmatism and also the poetic flow states. Both are a reality, and both are true.
My dad used to always say that something he thought was a great asset to me was the ability to be both engaged in flow and dream states and practicality. He once bragged to me that I was called a shaman in a review, lol. Also, I think he was proud that the only subject I did well in in my absolute bomb of a semester at UNT was an economics class. If anything, that allows me to, as my cousin says, be crisp in my writing. Flow states also have moments where the water meets a canyon, the weathered, clean edges made from centuries of rainfall, cutting the form of the stones as each moment passes untracable, yet visible in the form of the towering cliffs. And here I sit, in my imagination, preparing for a new day, somewhere around the edges, where you can see for miles, clear in the early morning sun.