I personally love coming here for a breath of fresh air when I seek community. Almost like how toddlers participate in parallel play, I find myself more productive when I’m working and existing in the presence of my fellow community members. The hustle and bustle of daily life tends to come to a halt the moment I walk through the doors. Another thing I love about the local café is that once you come enough, you earn the treasured and coveted title of ‘the regular’! Walking in and being greeted by name? Priceless.

I value my time here so much. It brings back a sense of humanity for me. I’ve seen people strike up conversations with strangers they meet in line, which resulted in exchanged phone numbers and future plans. How beautiful is it that a $5 latte can lean to a lifelong friendship. As I’m writing this, a girl just walked in with a friend, and saw another friend already here and they exchanged very elated “hellos”. That made me smile.

The local coffee house is community. A place to get out of your own headspace, a reward destination after a long day at work, the first date spot you reminisce on during your wedding day. A staple for a thriving neighborhood.

I write these things as a former barista and a coffee shop frequenter. Side note: if you love people watching and building community, this may be the job for you. I absolutely adored being a barista and it genuinely helped me learn some great people skills and gain a larger love for talking with strangers and learning people’s stories. A true sonder wonderland.

Building community with one another is so desperately needed in this lonely and isolated world. Become a regular! Show up for your community. Notice how your local café regulates you, emotionally, mentally, and physically. You can take up space here.

Let yourself breathe and drink your latte before work. It will genuinely do wonders for the mind. I find myself more calm and engaging going into work when I journaled my heart out while sipping my matcha and treating myself to a decadent pastry.

Introduce yourself to the barista, ask them how they’re doing. Compliment the stranger next to you, it might lead to a lifelong friendship. Let your barista surprise you with their favorite drink, start a pay-it-forward chain if you can. The public needs the charm and wonder of the local coffee house.

We don’t acknowledge it, because it only sticks around for a millisecond before a phone is in our hand, a TV screen is turned on, the reels are flowing and the dopamine feels good — for now. This happens in an instant, before we can even recognize the feeling of boredom.

As a kid, I’m sure you can recall uttering the phrase “I’m boredddd” only to be met with a coloring book, a boxed craft kit, some toy cars, or whatever the fix may be. Curiosity and imagination abound for however long, until that feeling crept back in.

Boredom.

While checking your phone, even if it’s just browsing the weather app or scrolling through settings, can feel instantly better than the sheer thought of not having anything to do, we often miss the world moving around us. Those human connections you’re craving? The ones you wish people “brought back”, they’re happening! Just look up!

Boredom oftentimes ignites creativity, and creativity sparks fulfillment. Those stacks of books on your shelf that you keep putting off, feeling as if they are staring back at you — they want to be read. The empty sketchbook craves graphite to touch it’s skin.

The brain wasn’t meant to constantly be looking at and taking in blue light. There’s a reason people become depressed after realizing an hour, two hours, three hours (or the entire day) fly by and nothing got done. Have you ever felt guilty after drawing? Reading a book or learning a new skill? I doubt it.

Being bored and finding something to do in that time is productive in itself. Sitting in silence and thinking can bring you to unexpected places. Giving your brain the peace it deserves is a gift. Boredom doesn’t need a cure, it needs to be embraced.

Recently I had a sudden urge to get out a piece of paper and a pen and go to town. I doodled, sitting on a barstool in my favorite cafe. Nothing too serious, just something to get my creative juices flowing and my ideas onto paper. An hour goes by and I look at my paper with a smile. An hour well spent! Doodling for an hour did not advance my career, reply to my unanswered texts for me, or earn me ‘side-hustle’ money. It was something for me to do mindlessly, screen-free and for myself. As a kid, I loved grabbing a piece of printer paper and a sheet of stickers and making storyboards out of it. A simple Dora sticker pack kept me entertained.

Fast forward to later that same night, I get home and instantly slip into routine. Drop my purse off by the front door, slip off my shoes, and plop into bed. My Face ID is happy to see my emotionless face again as it unlocks a world of comparison, jealousy, an algorithm tailored to my current emotions that dictates my feelings for me.

An hour goes by.

Two hours go by.

Suddenly it’s 2 a.m. and I’m mindlessly tapping on microseconds of life update’s of people doing the things I wish I was doing.

Someone going to a pottery class and learning a new skill, failing with a smile on their face.

A girl I once wished to be like, finally starting her degree in a topic she loved.

Something as simple as a friend going for a walk in an earthy and lush neighborhood. Feeling the sunshine on their face and letting their boredom run rampant.

What’s stopping you from living that same life? Feeling paralyzed and tied down to the glowing rectangle in your pocket is not what most would envision when asked the age-old question, “What do you do for fun?”. A hobby or practice requires effort, big or small. Trying something new is an experience. Failing is necessary.

As I am sitting in that same cafe that I found myself doodling in, writing this article, a woman about my age came up to me and asked what I was writing about. I told her and she replied saying something along the lines of “That is such an important piece. I don’t remember the last time I was bored.” This struck me, as I was just advocating for looking up at the world around you. I was wearing headphones and didn’t even hear this woman try to talk to me, but something in me urged me to look up. I noticed her staring with a smile, prompting me to remove my headphones and engage in a brief conversation I will remember for a long time.

Our world today promotes constant stimulation. A new and shiny app featuring short form content, sucking you in to it’s inescapable world. That’s what they want you to think. That you’re stuck. Once that thought takes place in your mind, they’ve succeeded.

Please do not lose hope.

Get up and write that book you’ve been dreaming about, growing old in the depths of your computer. Go out and attend that book club and discuss your findings with your peers, even if the thought of doing so makes you nervous. The same 24 hours today, are the same you get tomorrow.

Boredom creates a sense of what it’s like to be human. The feeling of not having anything to do, an endless stream of possibilities at our very own fingertips. It’s okay to be bored, that’s where life happens. Don’t let your humanity be stolen from you.

Ouch.

It hurts more when I say it out loud, or type it, but it’s true.

I’ve had people in my life whom I would consider my best friend, but I was not theirs. I always knew it, but played it off like no big deal, did some self reflection, and accepted it as my fate. I was there for relief, to be someone who laughs when the joke falls flat, or to be a ride service for someone to fulfill their errands.

Was this my superpower? Being a people pleasing chameleon to meet everyone’s needs around me? What about my own needs? No, that’s selfish. Do this seemingly small task for others, you’re the generous and provider friend. That’s your title.

I was scared to double text, deathly afraid to annoy someone and push them away, constantly seeking approval, whether it be my outfit, the music I listen to, or my decor style. Being excited when my own friend acknowledges my existence is not normal. I was losing myself. I was a copy of those around me and didn’t know who I was without them. Who am I?

I can’t count how many nights I’ve cried, asking myself what was wrong with me. Being the girl in elementary school who would sit alone at recess, or standing with the teachers, admiring each friend group’s solidity and wondering where mine was. Being excluded during lunch in middle school, or sitting alone in the hallways in high school.

You’re the generous and provider friend. That’s your title.

That was my subconscious realization for years, until I spent some time alone for about a year and a half.

Currently living out that solo period, I’ve learned many things about myself. I crave real friendships, but love my alone time. I can be myself freely, and not worry about what others may think, as I express my own quirks and personality for myself, and not for their approval. I have dreams and the motivation to fulfill those dreams. I am me without their authorization.

Maybe one day that group of friends will enter my life, at a time I need them most. Right now I’m mourning the friendships I thought I’d enter womanhood with, sharing life moments together and rooting each other on. They’re sitting on the bleachers now, instead of standing on the field, and that’s okay. Be your own cheerleader.

Seek and appreciate the ones in your life that show up and show out. Maybe they can relate to you more than you ever imagined. Even if that person is you.