Do you have those times when you feel like you can handle anything life sends your way and then one thing seems to break it for you? For me… it was the mug. I am not going to lie---it has been a rough six months for me and I feel like I have been doing a decent job of managing the stress, the sadness, the concern, the heavy workload at my job, so I find it so ironic that the mug sent me over the edge.
The funny thing about this mug is that looking at it, there is nothing special about it. It is a plain magenta mug with no decorations, no fancy shape, nor really anything that anyone else would find remarkable. But it was special to me. I've had that mug since my oldest was a baby (more than 20 years), it was the perfect size for a large cup of delicious, morning coffee, and it was the ideal container for making scrambled eggs in the microwave because the handle never heated up. And then in the middle of a stupid respiratory flu that knocked me down for almost a week, I reached for my healing cup of tea with lemon and honey when it slipped from my hands and onto my beautiful stained concrete bedroom floor and shattered in more pieces than I could count.
I cried, I raised my fists in the air shaking them angrily, and nothing seemed to magically bring my mug back from its trash heap destination. So why did this little thing hit me so hard--not sure, but I guess everyone has their limits. Luckily it was a brief walk on the edge before I was able to remind myself of the absurdity of mourning for a lost mug. You would think me, of all people, would understand that worrying about a lost mug is such a small loss compared to the sadness that could befall me.
But maybe the lost mug was only an omen for what is truly going to be a difficult road for me over the next few months--giving up coffee. I finally need to stop fighting it. Several doctors over the years have tried to convince me that coffee is not good for me for various reasons, but I have always resisted it because it is my only true vice. Over the years I have given up drinking sodas, given up most artificial sweeteners, cut down on fat, rich, sweet foods, added more veggies, fruits, and lean meats to my diet, and I am a non-smoking, rarely drinking, go-to-bed-early kind of girl. Can't I have one bad thing that makes me happy?
It turns out that I really do need to find a way to cut back slowly. I warn all others to try to steer clear of me in the morning for the next few months. I have a feeling that the coffee helped to make me a happy morning person--no telling what I will be like now. And hopefully this non-caffeine life will just be one more of the many detours I have needed to take to continue on the road to a healthier, even more flabulous version of me.
The funny thing about this mug is that looking at it, there is nothing special about it. It is a plain magenta mug with no decorations, no fancy shape, nor really anything that anyone else would find remarkable. But it was special to me. I've had that mug since my oldest was a baby (more than 20 years), it was the perfect size for a large cup of delicious, morning coffee, and it was the ideal container for making scrambled eggs in the microwave because the handle never heated up. And then in the middle of a stupid respiratory flu that knocked me down for almost a week, I reached for my healing cup of tea with lemon and honey when it slipped from my hands and onto my beautiful stained concrete bedroom floor and shattered in more pieces than I could count.
I cried, I raised my fists in the air shaking them angrily, and nothing seemed to magically bring my mug back from its trash heap destination. So why did this little thing hit me so hard--not sure, but I guess everyone has their limits. Luckily it was a brief walk on the edge before I was able to remind myself of the absurdity of mourning for a lost mug. You would think me, of all people, would understand that worrying about a lost mug is such a small loss compared to the sadness that could befall me.
But maybe the lost mug was only an omen for what is truly going to be a difficult road for me over the next few months--giving up coffee. I finally need to stop fighting it. Several doctors over the years have tried to convince me that coffee is not good for me for various reasons, but I have always resisted it because it is my only true vice. Over the years I have given up drinking sodas, given up most artificial sweeteners, cut down on fat, rich, sweet foods, added more veggies, fruits, and lean meats to my diet, and I am a non-smoking, rarely drinking, go-to-bed-early kind of girl. Can't I have one bad thing that makes me happy?
It turns out that I really do need to find a way to cut back slowly. I warn all others to try to steer clear of me in the morning for the next few months. I have a feeling that the coffee helped to make me a happy morning person--no telling what I will be like now. And hopefully this non-caffeine life will just be one more of the many detours I have needed to take to continue on the road to a healthier, even more flabulous version of me.
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