The wooden door pulls open with one tug and with it comes a waft of aromas. Fruity, nutty, floral, bitter, and sweet exist all in one. The smell is freshly pulled espresso.
This is what you walk into when you go to a coffee shop. Almost every morning now I go to one coffee shop, but when I walk inside there is no fresh coffee smell, at least, not yet.
When I walk inside the chairs are on the tables and the parts of the espresso machine are laid out, washed, on the counter. I pull down the chairs, turn on the lights, set out the glasses, dial-in the espresso, brew the first batch of coffee and turn the closed sign over to read open.
Finally, after years of dreaming of being a barista, I am trained and working. Being the first person many people talk to outside of their home for the day, making their coffee, and telling them good morning is one of the best jobs I have had yet. The idea in my head of what it meant to be a barista even fell short of what it really is.
Every day there are some struggles. There are the extra grumpy customers or technical problems. There are the random rushes of customers and too many timers going off to count. However, no matter how hot the kitchen gets or how convoluted of an order I receive, I wouldn’t wish to be doing anything else right now.
My writing had been put on pause for a bit while I graduated college, moved towns, and started a new job, but I’m realizing God works in mysterious ways and the stories that I have accumulated and continue to obtain would not ever come into existence if I had not experienced any of what I have up to this point.
What’s brewing is more than coffee and I have many pages ready to be filled.