the breaking of the french press.
my french press broke on monday morning. i had put the water on to boil and began washing it, along with my mug from the day before, just like i do every day. (because i am too lazy to wash it right after i finish using it. whatever.) and it just so happened, on this particular monday, it slipped out of my hand and cracked against another glass dish in the sink.
i stared at it for a second before realizing it meant i couldn't make my own coffee that morning. i'd have to move faster, leave a few minutes earlier, and stop to get some. (because, obviously.) there was no real panic or disruption to my morning. in fact, i managed to make a coffee stop and also arrive at work a full fifteen minutes early. but i picked up my phone to text my sister, who i'd already been texting with that morning, and another friend who would understand my struggle. i needed a minute, and some sympathy.
it crossed my mind to add a comment about mondays, because that's a thing. isn't it? everyone loves to hate mondays for the way they're always the day saying, "okay okay, let's focus and get back to work and why don't you spill coffee on yourself while you're at it." except my version of getting back to work involves spending my days playing with a smiley seven-month-old, who happens to be in a phase where he likes to be in my arms and snuggled up to me at all times, and i'm not mad about it. so no, i will not give monday-the-un-fun-day any credit, or acknowledgement.
instead, i thought about the first cup of coffee i made in that french press, just over a year ago. because i am sentimental like that. (not really. but i did write about it.) i bought that french press because i had quit my job, and that first cup was significant only because it was the first one i'd made after having unlimited access to a keurig and free k-cups every day. looking back, i see now how that cup marked the beginning of the craziest, most adventurous, challenging, and bittersweet season i've experienced so far in my life.
the breaking of the french press felt less like an unfortunate start to the week, and more like the mark of the end of a season in which i was the thing that was broken. maybe it's a stretch, but it felt like a reminder that good things, the things that seem like gold, are not the only things you have to let go of. sometimes it's the broken bits, the cracked french press, that need to be left behind.
maybe i needed that trip to target for a shiny new french press to remind me that i am not broken. i am new and whole and ready to be filled up. with more love, more grace, more courage, and also more caffeine.