Good morning. As is the case with every post I have written
on a weekend, I am sitting at Nina’s Coffee Café on the Corner of Selby and
Western in St. Paul. I have cited this location frequently, but aside from this post
on why I like coffee, I haven’t really elucidated why I like it here so much.
Many years ago, during my first attempt at recovery, I was a
fan of the Caribou chain. Everywhere I went I could get my fix, and I ended up
developing friendships with several employees at various locations. I wasn’t a
stalker, so much as a caffeine aficionado. When I first got out of prison
almost a year ago, I wasn’t in a position to be able to go out and do anything
because of the restrictive nature of my intense supervision, and the complete
lack of income in my pocket. I spent a few dollars at Caribou on occasion, but
it wasn’t the same; I no longer knew anybody, and I wasn’t allowed to stick
around to converse anyhow, not that I had the ability to talk to people yet.
This is my view every week. I get to pause and look at the people whenever I need a break.
On my birthday last year my wonderful mother gave me a gift
certificate to a place called Nina’s, not too far away from where we lived. The
first emotion that came to me was fear. Back then I was still institutionalized,
and very fearful of new places and things. Simply holding the paper certificate
in my hand made me anxious. My fears
were those of exposure and rejection.
Very quickly, Fear of exposure and fear of rejection work
together to muzzle perfectly talkative people when they should be talking about
themselves. They’re self-muzzled because they’re thinking, if people knew the real me, they’d for sure not want to be my (pick
one) friend, lover, employer, etc. What
that means is I have a very real fear of talking to people, asking people
questions, because in turn they will ask me questions and I will be expected to
answer them. Fuckers.
This place is where those fears started to fade away. It’s
the first place I felt normal. I don’t mean to offend anybody in particular
with this statement, but, when I’m here, I know I’m not the most fucked up
person at any given time, or maybe I am. It’s a flurry of characters that
surrounds me at all moments that makes me comfortable enough to know people
aren’t watching or judging me. At this very moment, a small child is crawling
up the bench toward me and potentially over the backrest. She pauses, looks at
me and smiles, then climbs back down and goes back to her mother. Now that she’s
gone, my view of a lady with a creepy faceless doll is unobstructed.
The tides of people move in and out, and only a few of us
remain the same. We are the rocks among the grains of sand. The employees
behind the counter working in perfect harmony, never wasting a precious move,
as should be the case.
I still have fears
left to deal with. I’ve been coming here regularly on weekends for over six
months now, and I don’t even know the names of the people that serve me coffee
and pastries. Am I afraid that they will then ask my name? I don’t think so, I
nearly exclusively get that answer correct. Why can’t they just wear nametags?
That would take all the fun out of it, I suppose. How is a simple question of
identification so hard for me to deal with? What happens when I know somebody’s
name, or when they learn mine?
It’s the relentless clamor that makes me feel relaxed. Is it
conceivable that it’s because when I first started writing, I was in such a deafening
environment? Because I was not given the choice to “turn down the volume”
behind the cold steel bars, is it imaginable that that is the setting I seek
out here? Am I saying that Nina’s Coffee Café reminds me of prison? No. But I
have found that I do my best writing here, because my mind is somehow more
focused with relentless commotion.
All week long at work, I think of the upcoming weekend. My
favorite part is early mornings, sitting in my favorite spot in my favorite
coffee shop, writing about my life. And slowly, but ever so surely, I’m
beginning to get over my fears, and branch out into the world that scared me
only a year ago. And that is why I like it here.