I decided to take my neglected, winter-worn car for a much-needed oil change. I could have had H&H do it, but old habits die hard and, without a second thought, I headed down the road to the franchise service shop I’d visited at least a dozen times. Despite my many trips, when I walked inside, the service man asked if I had ever been there before.
It happened every time. And never has anyone there remembered my name, offered me a ride, or asked about my family. They knew me as a 1998 Jeep Grand Cherokee, not as Megan, the loyal customer. I instantly regretted not going back to H&H.
* * *
As the characters in Cheers know, it’s nice to have a place where everybody (or at least somebody) knows your name—especially in today’s increasingly technological world with self-checkout, pay-at-the-pump, online banking, online shopping, email, and more. Life is faster than ever, but it can also be isolating.
Jim’s story shows the power of going out of your way to make a connection with someone—to say hello, to listen, to offer a cup of coffee.
I know I’ll be back to H&H. Because when life is going a hundred miles an hour and getting gas is the last thing I want to do, it would be nice to hear someone say, “Thanks for stopping in, Megan, and have a great day.”
Masaki Takahashi
Wanderer’s Teahouse in East Lansing, Michigan
Small green tea
Forgiveness is hard, but better than a lifetime of resentment.
Cup 27 started with an unexpected email. The student-run newspaper at Michigan State had printed a story about my 52 Cups project, and Masaki Takahashi, who just happened to stumble across it, felt compelled to email me.
The last line of his email hooked me: “I love the idea of the blog because I am on my own mission to branch out as well. I have kept this guard up from letting people into my life and am hoping to let it down.”
The message resonated with me—big time. One of the greatest things that had happened to me during college has been learning to let my walls down. I came into college as a reserved freshman, but because I was a thousand miles from home, I had to eventually open up to the people around me. Luckily, I made incredible supportive friends and learned that the more I open up, the better life gets.
I decided I had to meet him.
* * *
When I walked into the teashop, I found him waiting at the counter. I introduced myself, and we ordered tea (which, although a deviation from my coffee-norm, I allowed due to our location), and found a place to sit down. The teashop was crowded but had a comfortable atmosphere conducive to good conversation. After a few minutes of small talk, I asked him to tell me a little bit about himself.
It took him three sentences to answer my question, “Well, I’m a Media Arts major. I’m a junior. I have a four-year-old son; that’s about it.”
Two things about his response caught me off-guard. First of all, I would never have guessed this young 20-something student would have a son. And secondly, he was so nonchalant with his answer: Three sentences and a “that’s about it”? I knew there had to be more.
In his defense, he had told me he was good at keeping his walls up. Luckily, as I continued to ask him questions, he opened up and his incredible story eventually came out.
* * *
Masaki’s high-school sweetheart had gotten pregnant during their freshman year of college. It was an unexpected event and a scary time for both of them, but they married, and Masaki shifted his focus to doing everything necessary to take care of his new family. They needed money, so he started working 80 hours a week, eventually dropping out of school because he couldn’t juggle a family, job, and classes.
While the constant work kept food on the table, it took a toll on his new marriage. He thought he was doing the right thing—providing financial support—but keeping the family together took more than just money. The strain of the situation eventually became too much, and Masaki and his wife decided to split up.
As he told me this, it was evident he was disappointed—both because he had lost someone he truly loved, and because he felt like he’d let his family and himself down. In the process of this story, he explained, “I think I failed because I had never seen it done right.”
It wasn’t an excuse, nor was he passing the blame to someone else. He was simply stating a fact: he had grown up in a rocky household and didn’t know what a stable family looked like; let alone how to create one.
* * *
Masaki was born in Japan and had never known his father. At the age of four, his mother, overwhelmed with single-motherhood, had sent him to live with his aunt and uncle in America.
The transition from life in Japan to life in America—without his mom by his side—had been inevitably difficult. And while the situation was better than life in Japan, it wasn’t ideal. His uncle struggled with alcohol, and his new home lacked praise and encouragement.
By age 16, Masaki had developed some behavioral problems (in his words, he was a ‘brat’), and his aunt and uncle weren’t equipped to deal with these problems. They kicked him out of the house, sending him back to Japan to live with his mom.
So once again, he was shuffled across the world to a new environment. After being away for ten years—not to mention that adolescence was already a difficult period in one’s life—reconnecting with his mom was an interesting experience. Overall, he enjoyed the experience and the freedom he had to explore the city, before eventually returning to his aunt and uncle’s home in the U.S., graduating from high school and then enrolling at Michigan State.
Had I known his history in advance, I probably would have been expecting to meet a resentful, overwhelmed man. Let alone a man juggling split-custody of a four-year-old (“the coolest kid in the world”), a full course load and two jobs. That’s a lot for one man to handle.
But Masaki’s disposition showed no trace of a stressful life. He is enthusiastic, gracious, and has a great outlook on life. I asked him how he did it—how he kept going when life got so hard. How he stayed on the right path when, without anyone supporting him, he could have so easily gone down a much darker path?
His answers gave true insight into his character. He said he felt like he had something to prove to the world—and I could see the drive in his eyes. One day, he said he wanted to look back at the years of struggling and see that all his pain had been worth it. He was driven by the idea that a better life awaited him and his son, and if he could endure long enough, he would find it.
But, in the meantime, he persists and holds onto his optimism. As he said, “As long as there’s a tomorrow, life is all right.”
* * *
As I talked with Masaki, I kept thinking about a quote I’d heard once: Life is not holding a good hand; Life is playing a poor hand well.
If I’d learned anything in my first six months of coffees, it’s that nobody is dealt a perfect hand; we all have a unique set of challenges. Seeing Masaki’s unwavering drive for a better life, despite his struggles, was an inspiration.
Masaki has many people in his past he could understandably be angry with, but a major lesson he’d learned is that harboring pain and anger only makes you bitter. Instead of holding onto the resentment of his childhood, he was looking for the strength to forgive and move on.
Resentment is something that builds up easily—whether from a major incident or small ones gradually accumulating over time. As it builds, it starts to weigh us down, hindering us from moving forward.
It can happen unconsciously, which is why I appreciated my conversation with Masaki. It prompted me to think about my own burdens, the hatchets I had been meaning to bury.
Masaki invited me to coffee as a way to let his walls down, and in the process, he showed me that there were some I was still holding up.
Ellen Kay
Bean and Leaf Café in Royal Oak, Michigan
Medium green tea
People may not say thank you, but that doesn’t mean your efforts aren't appreciated.
Ellen Kay
has a challenging job. She teaches first grade at an elementary school in Macomb County, a suburb of Detroit.
I can’t imagine trying to capture the attention of a couple dozen six- and seven-year-olds, and then keeping it long enough to cover the principles of basic math and proper nouns. I’m just not fit for the elementary-school scene, which was why I admire those who have a passion for it.
And that was before I had even met Ellen. Hearing her story increased my admiration, while simultaneously creating an urge to send thank-you letters to the elementary teachers in my life who have truly made a difference.
Ellen works at a school where many of the children are living at or below the poverty line. Her greatest challenge is getting the students to practice their reading at home—and over the summer—but for many of their parents, there are higher priorities than taking 15 minutes to sit and read a book, especially for the few students who don’t have permanent homes.
That is just one difficulty. She also has to deal with standardized testing, ever increasing class sizes, and decreasing attention spans—all interfering with her passion for educating students and preparing them for their futures.
* * *
Ellen Kay was telling me about her experience as a teacher while we sat in an adorable cafe, filled with a varied clientele of students studying, people meeting to talk business, and others just enjoying coffee on a sunny afternoon. Ellen was a little reserved, but amiable and engaging. It was a pleasant conversation. I had a hard time wrapping my head around the difficult job of teaching students who were facing such difficult situations.
She acknowledged that her job wasn’t easy, and there are a lot of tough days, but the kids kept her going. She knew she could make a difference in their lives—because she had teachers that had made a difference in hers.
Ellen planned to become an architect, but it was a third-grade teacher who changed her mind. While in high school, an elementary school teacher needed a volunteer to spend an hour in her classroom once a week, and it was Ellen who filled the role. Through the experience she discovered a love for teaching and changed her plans for college.
It is a decision she is still happy about. For some of her students, she had been their only source of support and encouragement. Seeing her students learn and grow made it easier for her to overlook the imperfections of the school system.
At least for now, anyway. Ellen Kay has seen how the stress of the job wears people down and makes them bitter. She said if she ever reached that point, she would leave teaching. There are students who depend on her; she knows she has the power to change lives, but she only wants to change them if it is a change for the better.
I respect her for that; although I’ve had incredible teachers in my academic career, I’ve also had some who clearly no longer found joy in their jobs. As Ellen spoke, I couldn’t help but think back to my memories of elementary school—from the first day of school with my backpack stocked with a fresh set of Crayola crayons, to the weekly trips to the library, the made-up recess games, and the awful food they fed us at lunch. Those were the days when homework assignments consisted of craft projects, and every holiday was a cause for celebration and cupcakes.
Looking back, I realize the excitement of school was just a bunch of new knowledge, cleverly disguised as fun. I couldn’t appreciate what my teachers did for me until much later, after I’d moved on to the next step of my life. As a society, we too often underappreciate teachers, even though they can be some of the most important people in our lives.
But that lack of appreciation doesn’t stop teachers from working hard, which is the lesson I will take away from Cup 28. Sometimes, a work situation isn’t ideal. Sometimes, it takes a lot of work before you see a payoff. And sometimes, your efforts may go unnoticed.
But if it is for a worthy cause—if it is something that changes the world, even invisibly—it is worth doing. And it is worth doing right.
Sue Carter
Biggby Coffee in East Lansing, Michigan
Small house coffee
“The water buffalo are waiting at the gate. Let’s go!”
This was a common phrase Sue Carter heard while growing up. It was one of her mother’s favorites: an expression that implied there was a whole world outside waiting to be discovered and she wasn’t going to find it sitting inside.
The mentality had clearly passed on to Sue. In 2001, she led the first all-women expedition to the North Pole. Then she wrote a book about it.
In March of 2010, she traveled to Malawi, Africa, to document the efforts of Michigan State University Professor Terrie Taylor and her team’s decade-long effort to study and understand the nature of childhood malaria.
As a journalism professor at Michigan State for the past two decades, she spent each summer taking a group of young minds to the United Kingdom for a once-in-a-lifetime study-abroad experience.
All of these experiences were on top of a 17-year career as a broadcast journalist, during which she earned various accolades, including UPI Sports Broadcaster of the Year and an Emmy for her documentary, The Great Experiment. In April of 2007, she was inducted into the Michigan Journalism Hall of Fame. And, as if that weren’t enough, she had also obtained a law degree from Wayne State University, and later became an ordained priest.
But if you met Sue in person, you would never suspect this warm-hearted woman in her sixties would have such a remarkable number of experiences under her belt. I only knew because a mutual friend insisted we talk. He described her as the “textbook definition of living your dreams joyfully and totally.” As soon as he told me this, I emailed to see if she’d be able to meet.
A week later, I was sitting across from Sue in a crowded coffee shop listening to her various stories and the lessons she learned in the process.
I wondered about her trek to the North Pole, so I asked her to tell me what had spurred the grand idea. Turns out, it all happened over a simple cup of coffee. She was meeting with a friend who mentioned recently joining a team of women going to the North Pole. That was an adventure right up Sue’s alley; “Not without me, you’re not!” she responded. Then she found a way to join the crew.
She explained that, when it comes to life, you have to be present, sign up, and make opportunities happen instead of waiting for them to arrive. Like Woody Allen said: Eighty percent of life is just showing up.
However, the North Pole trip wasn’t meant to be. The team encountered roadblock after roadblock, and the plans were canceled. That didn’t stop Sue. Something about the trip had struck a chord within and she knew she needed to continue pursuing the goal. After a short break, she took charge, and, after nearly eight years of planning, the trip became a reality. Twelve women skied from Russia to the North Pole, enduring incredible physical, environmental, and personal challenges during the 130-mile expedition.
The trip was a lesson in perseverance and trusting intuition. Success might not appear exactly as expected or within the desired time frame, but with persistence, faith, and hard work, things eventually come together.
And sometimes they come together in interesting ways. When they had reached the North Pole, a team from NASA had been waiting to do an international webcast before taking them home. Sue had a longtime friend who worked for NASA. She had been meaning to go visit the friend for years, but hadn’t found the time. Serendipitously, that friend had been put on the helicopter team, and the two friends had the chance to reconnect—at the North Pole of all places!
That was one of the many serendipitous moments in Sue’s life. A few years earlier, she realized that she was being called to the ministry and had taken a sabbatical from teaching to move to New York to become ordained within the Episcopal Church. She befriended a man from Africa in one of her classes, but they lost touch after she moved back to Michigan. However, when Sue traveled to Malawi, to film a documentary on Professor Taylor’s work with malaria, she discovered she was in the same city as her friend, and she was able to reconnect with him halfway arou
nd the world from where they’d originally met.
* * *
I loved hearing Sue recount these small-world experiences. I’m constantly amazed at those situations where everything seems to fall into place like magic, as if the stars had aligned perfectly to make a certain situation happen. It is an exhilarating feeling and one that has happened to me a few times over the previous six months of 52 Cups.
Sue calls these experiences moments that are “rightly ordered.” During these moments, the countless pieces of our lives are in sync—in proper alignment—and the result is that things fall into place. Being in a “rightly ordered” state is a good place to be.
I asked her how one creates a situation that is rightly ordered.
Sue explained that these moments may seem like coincidence, but there is more to them than just chance. Rightly ordered situations are affirmations of the choices we make. When things come together, it is a sign that we are on the right road, that we are making the right decisions.
It was reassuring to hear that if you pay attention to the surroundings, the world gives you feedback. And it works with both good and bad choices: If the signs around you don’t feel right, and nothing seems to be going well, there is something out of alignment and it’s a good time to reevaluate your decisions.
* * *
We continued talking, and Sue continued to pass along great pieces of advice and share great stories. It felt like I was sitting with an old friend I’d known for years. When our meeting ended and we parted ways, I felt a great sense of calm. It was partly from her warm and selfless nature and partly from her advice.
One of the many lessons I will take away from Cup 29 is that life is dynamic and always providing feedback. When you make a decision, you can read the signs and readjust if necessary. It is a great mindset because it reduces much of the fear caused by the uncertainty of what the future holds. It takes a certain level of faith, but with the right approach to life, and the courage to change course when necessary, everything works out in the end. Living in fear of what might lay in the future only holds us back. And I don’t have time for that.
52 Cups of Coffee: Inspiring and insightful stories for navigating life’s uncertainties Page 10
