New obsession: finding quaint little coffee shops.
Went to Bluebird yesterday with a girlfriend, on her recommendation. I completely forgot how much I used to enjoy discovering a new coffee shop. Starbucks—which, if you know me at all, you’ll know that it’s practically my religion—has been my go-to for whenever I need that pick-me-up. Usually crowded and bustling with people, with baristas efficiently dishing out drinks, it’s an environment and pace I’ve long since become accustomed to. A quick order for a frapuccino to go and boom; you’re good to go. For someone like me, who’s the type that constantly hurries from point A to point B, it’s perfect.
And then there’s Bluebird. Bluebird, which reminded me exactly what the perks of going to a small, personally owned coffee shop is. With the windows spread wide open to streets, paintings by some obscure abstract artist hanging on the wall, brick walls that reminded me of warm fireplaces, delicate little stoops and tables that are just shy of being clustered, French music playing faintly in the background, and the (only) barista leisurely reading the paper as his customers enjoyed themselves in his shop…. It felt like the sort of place I’d love to return to with a novel, curl up by the benches with a hot cup of coffee and just—relax. It reminded me that life isn’t always about getting to the next destination. Sometimes, it’s okay to slow down, take a deep breath, and be content with where you are at this very moment.
