It is 5:34 a.m.
Half awake, I set up everything to make coffee.
I just moved into a furnished apartment in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, and the only coffee maker is a slow drip.
I’ve seen them before in the hip coffee shops popping up everywhere from Los Angeles’s Melrose Avenue to Tijuana, Mexico. From Antigua, Guatemala to New York City.
Coffee has become a religion, and I am a believer.
But it’s only been a few times that I’ve stopped and ordered a slow drip, especially because of that first word on its name: slow.
If I go into a coffee shop, it is usually because I am on the run. I come in with my own to-go cup and usually order an almond milk latte or regular coffee.
No time for the slow drip.
But today, the sun hasn’t even risen, and I find myself staring into the liquid.
I catch my thoughts, lost in my senses.
I follow the instructions my husband gave me last night on how to make the coffee:
Get the filter a little wet so the taste of the paper comes out.
Heat the water.
Scoop two teaspoons of coffee for every cup of water.
Pour the water until bubbles come up from the top of the grounds.
Then pour in a spiral. Plop. Plop. Plop.
Plop. Plop. Plop. Plop.
There’s nothing else in my mind but the string of coffee slowly dripping into the crystal.
The aroma fills my small kitchen.
I notice how my train of thoughts, which is usually constantly going, has stopped.
I noticed that in my mind all information is provided by my senses.
I am present.
My usual routine has suddenly been modified and, more importantly, slowed down.
There is nothing I can do to make this simple act faster.
So I enjoy it.
I watch it happen.
No phone in my hand, no chasing a toddler, no walking my dog; just watching the thin, dark string of coffee.
Sometimes, we struggle with finding quiet. I know I’ve been having a hard time meditating; I’m usually interrupted by life.
So I appreciate this simple moment.
We can find calmness in forms we did not expect—like in a cup of tea or the slow drip of a coffee maker.
I am grateful for this little mindful moment.
I am awake.
Author: Montse Leon
Image: Aga Putra/Unsplash
Editor: Danielle Beutell
Copy Editor: Travis May
Social Editor: Yoli Ramazzina