The lazy warmth of sunlight, the daydreamy white walls, the invigorating scent of fresh-brewed coffee— stepping into the coffee shop was like stepping into a world outside of time.
It was my first time visiting family in small-town Kansas since the pandemic hit last year, and in my search for an internet connection, I found that my choice was between a coffee shop and a tiny public library.
I had stopped at the coffee shop once before, on my way home from a similar trip, and the memory drew me back to it.
Sitting at the back corner table, bathed in brilliant June sunshine, I knew I’d discovered my new haven.
The quiet of the mostly empty shop wrapped me in a soft cocoon of caffeine and musical harmony, as I safely indulged my introverted side, browsing social media and writing on my laptop before emerging back into the world of family social events.
Thus, the start of my daily appearances at the café.
Over the next few days, I observed the residents of the coffee shop come and go from behind my laptop screen. Most people got a drink or a snack—or both—and left.
Some didn’t come in at all, preferring the ease and speed of the drive-through.
So the few ones who stayed around left an impression.
I watched a mother purchase a coffee for herself and some snacks for her two kids, fresh from the city pool, before sitting down to enjoy a nice chat with the shift manager as her kids pranced around them.
Another time, a well-dressed young gentleman came in, hair impeccably groomed.
He took in the scene carefully, before heading to the register and asking for an application.
After he left, the supervisor turned to a couple employees on duty and said something about not thinking they needed any extra help, but maybe he might be worth considering. Maybe.
In between visitors, the baristas chatted and gossiped among themselves, with never a raised voice, except the occasional short laugh. They answered customer questions with frank kindness.
It was as if inside the shop was a little world all of its own, hidden by heatwaves—shimmering reflections of light from the outside world—that negativity couldn’t penetrate.
When I left Kansas, returning to my day-to-day life, I realized what a valuable gift that little café had given me.
I miss having that space to step out of the busyness and the hustle and to focus on a single task in a calming environment.
Looks like I’ll have to find a similar refuge for my Saturday mornings in my own hometown.