El Paraiso: A Place Without Fear
Photo by @8moments
Spotty, my puppy, used to be afraid of me.
I remember when she would check on me while I was in my office at our old apartment.
She'd make eye contact and flee at my slightest movement in her direction.
One of the big reasons that she moved with such trepidation was my unpredictability.
We've since grown together.
I brought her to the outside world earlier than a dog trainer might recommend.
She interacted with a world that could've broken her confidence.
I have a one-year-old pomsky who is sure of herself.
Her self-confidence isn't innate.
It was born from being taught how to be a dog by her mom, early exposure to other dogs, and her training regimen.
Spotty's structure gave her self-assuredness.
I'm thinking of my dog for many reasons.
She went from months of hiding from me to communing with me on the couch as I wrote and prepared to sip.
I'm inspired by her growth and two most defining traits: a willingness to meet strangers and an ability to move forward without fail.
I've always feared writing; that fear is that I'll gas out of creativity someday.
The feeling is valid, but creativity is a near-infinite resource. I need to create my own gas pump for it.
Coffee, however, is not an infinite resource, though it feels endless.
I made some this morning for my partner, and I'm letting the residuals go to waste.
She was delighted last night that I brought home paper filters and was reinvigorated when she saw them in the kitchen.
I've been making pour-overs with just a metal filter this past week.
I told my brother this, and he said, "That's like smoking a Black & Mild without the filter tip."
To which I said, "We were raised to make things work."
My dad is a function-over-fashion kind of guy.
I remember when his coffee maker stopped working in 2018, and he took the plastic filter from the machine and made a pour-over into a big cup with boiling water from the stove.
He didn't let needing to do things properly stop him from getting his java that morning!
Struggle, another sign that God love you
'Cause on the low, being poor make you humble
Keep they names in my rhymes to try and keep 'em out of trouble
'Cause being poor also teach you how to hustle
– Lupe Fiasco, Real
I had my first sip 200 words ago, and I'm compelled to keep drinking.
A blue and white dichromatic mug adorned with flowers is about a quarter full of coffee that teeters between the colors of orange and light brown in appearance.
This a light roast nearing medium.
It tastes of dried fruit, and nuts, then finishes with a mild sweetness coupled with light acidity.
This Guatemalan roast from Lost Socks is called El Paraiso, meaning "The Paradise," a synonym for heaven.
This coffee is gentle like I imagine heaven might be.
Paradise is different for everyone and every belief system.
To some, it may not exist at all.
For me, Paradise is a place without fear.
Spotty lies by my feet as I sit crisscross applesauce with my laptop.
500 words into writing, with my coffee almost depleted, I'm there, too.