Coffee and a Zest for Life
A particularly fancy coffee outing to a particularly fancy cafe in North Melbourne called Path. Here we see the cheapest options on the menu, which were the only options I could afford.
Instead of discussing my research progress or any of my favourite topics of philosophy, education and science, I’d like to take some of your time justifying my coffee hobby.
Before relocating to Melbourne for my undergraduate studies, a state where I knew no one, I received advice from just about everyone, whether I asked for it or not. Four years later and all I remember from that time is my sister telling me “alcohol is fine if you’re careful about it, just don’t get into coffee”. While I have yet to try alcohol, it appears I have, to put it mildly, gotten into coffee.
Whoops.
Perhaps, dear reader, you may be suspicious that this fate was inevitable to some extent. After all, isn’t Melbourne considered the coffee capital of the world?
While I’d love to blame Melbourne for my newfound weakness for certain roasted, fermented fruit pips (yes, coffee beans aren’t actually beans), I didn’t actually try coffee for three of my four years living there. It appears this one is on me.
So, how am I to defend myself? After years of resisting to participate in socially acceptable drugs, why now…and why coffee?
To explain myself we’re going to wander through some human psychology, Japanese philosophy and along the way bump into Bertrand Russell, the mathematician, philosopher and outspoken activist of the early 20th century.
Rituals
My first defence is that coffee is not just a drink, it is a ritual and, at this point, an entire sub-culture. I have generally been critical of social traditions that strike me as without purpose or justification. Whilst some certainly lack these ingredients, I was intrigued to read about the positive role that rituals can play in regulating emotional states and alleviating negative emotions like stress and anxiety. Curious as always, I decided to allay my usual scepticism and embrace the ritual of coffee.
This began with an adventurous attitude towards the cafes and variety of coffee-related drinks available in Melbourne. My partner and I would break up work with walks to cafes on our ever-growing list of places to try. The atmosphere of cafes became a very enjoyable place to work, read and just talk. There is something very relaxing about the fusion of privacy and publicity that cafes create by filling a room with people, each on their own table in their own world with their own snacks and beverages. At these cafes, for a time, I would aim to try a new drink. From the familiar and faithful Flat White and Latte all the way to the more niche and eclectic Magic and Nitro Cold Brew. Along the way was the very joyous discovery that this ‘coffee’ thing was not one drink at all, but could taste completely different in different forms and even in the same form between different cafes.
My first go hand-grinding fresh coffee beans
I have my digital scales ready to weigh the correct amount and my notebook open with detailed observations from my initial experiments with pre-ground coffee
Then, I decided to splurge on some equipment to engage in the ritual of making coffee. This started with a hand grinder (freshly ground beans make a huge difference to the taste), cold brew pot (I particularly like the taste and texture of cold brew) and a historical classic of coffee brewing: the moka pot.
With enough enthusiasm, making coffee can be just as fun as drinking it, and perhaps even a bit more. The cost of equipment justified itself not only in the lower price of homemade coffee but also in the fun activity it brought. I even bought a separate little A5 journal to log my procedures and the results of my coffee making. Making coffee quickly became a science experiment. I would present my partner with a glass of the latest cold brew with a few technical comments: “I tried a slightly coarser grind this time, but kept the brew time at 18 hours so we can see what effect the grind size has. Next time, I think I’ll extend the brew time to see if we can get a stronger acidity in the aftertaste”.
So, what began as an adventure into the taste of coffee in its many forms, to see what all the fuss was about, grew into a hobby that brought joy not only in the products of the ritual, but also in the process of the ritual itself.
There are many examples of this in all kinds of hobbies. Whilst hobbyist painters may enjoy their creations and hobby athletes enjoy beating their personal records, I suspect that a large or even majority portion of the joy derived from their hobby is from the act of painting or the process of training, irrespective of the outcomes of this activity.
Speaking of joy irrespective of outcomes, here is my most successful attempt at latte art. Note how wobbly and unimpressive it is, though it completely made my day and brought me a smile for a few days after.
Ikigai
My second defence for embracing coffee as a hobby comes from the Japanese philosophy of “ikigai”.
Before we proceed, I should confess I am certainly not the first to look towards ikigai as a source of wisdom. There is an entire book on the subject aimed at western audiences: “Ikigai: The Japanese Secret to a Long and Happy Life” by Hector Garcia and Francesc Miralles. Additionally, there is a great segment about ikigai in episode 1 of “The Future with Hannah Fry”.
Anyway, I digress.
Ikigai means “reason for being”, but as a philosophy captures a much more specific sentiment. To find ones ikigai is to find ones passion in life, but the kinds of things that are considered passions are not what we might expect in our hyper-productive hyper-competitive modern world. Your ikigai is not something grandiose like making the world a better place, pushing the limits of human understanding or becoming the best of the best at some skill or pursuit. In fact, the example we meet in episode 1 of “The Future with Hannah Fry” is the ikigai of Neuroscientist Ken Mogi: butterflies. Ken describes the pleasure he feels when he discovers a butterfly along his morning running route, and can’t hold back a smile just talking about them.
Now don’t worry, I’m not saying that my “reason for being” is coffee, I like the stuff but it isn’t the core of my existence.
Instead, for me, ikigai resonated with a particular attitude towards the world which can be summed up by the phrase:
“seeing the universe in a teacup”
By paying attention and recognising the smallest details in everyday things, you really can be swept away by fascination, awe and curiosity.
This is what latte art is supposed to look like, and this certainly wasn’t done by me! Try to see all the different shapes made by each slightly different shade of brown, it’s crazy!
So, the mundane act of drinking my morning coffee (which does appear to be every morning these days) can become an entire world of interest. The peculiar and complex ways that different fluids mix and interact is a dazzling visual display, and there is also the fascinating combinations of tastes, smells and textures. This tapestry of experience is allegedly captured in the English language by a single word: coffee.
The best part is, this isn’t just coffee. Any small mundane thing has the potential to be an object of complete fascination and joy if we can manage to devote our complete attention to it, if at least for a brief moment.
Bertrand Russell and Finding Zest in Modern Life
Finally, to defend myself and my beloved morning brew, I will appeal to a less ancient wisdom. Bertrand Russell was a mathematician and philosopher known for his work in logic and his political activism. He is a fascinating character, and was startlingly ahead of his time. Recently, I have been reading some bits and pieces of his writing, including some of “The Conquest of Happiness”, which was first published in 1930.
In the text, Russell outlines his thoughts on the causes for unhappiness in the modern (1930) world as well as causes for happiness, and how one could navigate from a state of unhappiness to one of happiness. Whilst some of the writing is unsurprisingly dated, much of it remains relevant today.
One of Russell’s consistent points is that us humans are not adapted to the routine of post-industrial life, where desires can be instantly satisfied, where intense physical labour is not necessarily daily, where the immediate and tangible threats of hunger and predators are non-existent, only to be usurped by more abstract, and perhaps more sinister, financial and social threats.
Among Russell’s ingredients for happiness in the crazy modern world, one in particular stuck out to me: zest.
Nothing quite like a good book and some coffee to accompany the morning
A quick google will reveal that zest is just an extra-strong synonym for enthusiasm and energy. This captures the broad sentiment, but Russell uses zest to mean more specifically an adventurousness towards living life. Russell observes, correctly I think you’ll agree, that the youngest children naturally possess a curiosity, adventurousness and enthusiasm towards everything life has to offer. Perhaps this is because at that age almost everything life offers is a new experience. As we get older, the number of novel experiences steadily declines and perhaps also some sociocultural influences gnaw away at that natural zest for life.
Russell certainly enjoins his readership to rediscover their zest for life, and I think this was an important reminder for myself to always keep the zest I was born with within arms reach, or at least on a nearby shelf.
Perhaps my adventures through Melbourne cafes trying increasingly niche beverages through to my experiments with home-coffee-creation had brought me and my zest closer together and helped remind me how to approach anything in life with the curious enthusiasm of youth (I say as if I am not a youth at 22 years old).
Coffee has certainly been an adventure for me, one among many I hope to embark on.
Coffee and a Zest for Life
So, is it alright that I drink coffee now?
I hope you think so, because at this point I’m in too deep.
As I write this, I am sipping on a decaf flat white I made at home. That’s right, a decaf. It isn’t even about the caffeine, it really is about the coffee, whatever that word means now.
It’s about how I can sit and drink and do nothing else for a moment after a busy day. It’s about how I can watch the espresso and milk swirl together and be completely absorbed imagining the complicated motions of all those particles mixing and moving. It’s about how despite all this, it’s coffee we’re talking about here. It’s about how coffee is not transcendental or spiritual or enlightening or intellectually deep or physically challenging and yet it can still be such an avenue for interest and joy. It’s about treating every part of life as an adventure, from our greatest triumphs to a simple beverage.
So, I know it’s not my area of expertise, or even that important a topic, but I just wanted to take up some of your time justifying my new coffee hobby, and perhaps encourage you, dear reader, to turn something mundane into an adventure.
