52 Cups of Coffee: Inspiring and insightful stories for navigating life’s uncertainties

by Megan Gebhart

  So she ditched the idea and jumped into a job-search. But then, something happened. Her roommate, Panida, a Thai woman she met at Michigan State, came home with devastating news. Her supervisor had come to her in tears—she was struggling to make ends meet at her current job… and had decided to start prostituting.

  She was at the end of her rope.

  Brittany knew she had to do something. This was her chance to intervene before it was too late.

  The idea of starting a company re-emerged. She still wasn’t convinced it would work, but she decided to try. She bought the needed materials, found instructions online, and sewed (in her words) the world’s ugliest little bag. But it was a completed bag, and it was a start.

  Panida joined Brittany in her efforts. They approached her supervisor about the possibility of her working for their new company making bags.

  The supervisor quickly said no.

  Like Brittany, she didn’t believe in herself. She didn’t know how to make a bag, and she was afraid to try.

  Brittany and Panida refused to give up. They told her they would leave her the supplies and instructions, and encouraged her to give it a shot. When they returned a week later, the supervisor opened the door with a big smile on her face. She held up a completed bag with pride in her eyes—she proved to herself she could do it.

  Although it was also “one of the world’s ugliest little bags,” it was a start.

  Sometimes, that’s all you need.

  With practice, they began making beautiful bags that they sold in the United States, United Kingdom and online through Brittany’s company Thai Song. The company she thought would never work was approaching its second anniversary. And, more importantly, they employed six women who felt empowered, dignified, and confident.

  * * *

  At the ripe age of 24, Brittany Fox has already changed many lives. Perhaps that’s why she felt so connected to Thailand when she first arrived: it needed help and, somewhere deep inside, Brittany knew she could provide it.

  Cup 47 taught me the value of testing our assumptions, instead of simply assuming an idea won’t work.

  Brittany could have stuck to the belief that her idea wouldn’t work.

  But she didn’t.

  And now six women in Thailand are facing a much brighter future.

  Steve Schram

  Michigan Radio Headquarters in Ann Arbor, Michigan

  Green tea

  Uncertainty is inevitable, but you don’t have to tackle it alone.

  I wasn’t in the best of spirits the Monday I drove to Ann Arbor to meet Steve Schram. I had had one of those weekends where everything felt uncertain: I questioned every choice I was making, and I worried I was setting goals I wasn’t fit to achieve.

  In short, my confidence had faltered.

  It happens to everyone. With 365 days in a year, you’re bound to have a handful of bad ones. In fact, you’re lucky if you only have a handful.

  My focus over the past few weeks had been determining what would happen after my post-college travels came to an end. I wanted to continue traveling, but my dwindling bank account was a constant reminder that I had to find a way to make it financially feasible.

  One of the greatest lessons I’d learned through 52 Cups was this: with the right combination of passion, courage, persistence, and elbow grease, anything could happen. That’s why I was pursuing what I truly wanted in a career rather than settling on a 9-to-5 that didn’t fit me. My pursuit had more uncertainty and risk than the typical job-route, but I could handle the uncertainty; I’d heard enough success stories to know the end result would be well worth the effort.

  Okay, saying I could handle the uncertainty was not entirely true. A more accurate statement would be that I could handle the uncertainty 95 percent of the time. The weekend before Cup 48 fell into the five percent of the time when I worried I’d bitten off more than I could chew and was too naive to notice.

  That’s why I went to have coffee with Steve Schram.

  The only thing I knew about Steve—aside from his job title of Director of Public Media at Michigan Radio—was that he was a close friend of one of my mentors, Scott Westerman. During a conversation with Scott, I told him I needed to have coffee with someone who gave good advice. Scott said Steve was the perfect person, so I set up a meeting and hit the road to Ann Arbor.

  * * *

  When I arrived at the Michigan Radio office in downtown Ann Arbor, Steve gave me a warm welcome before getting us both a cup of green tea from the break room. We began the conversation by exchanging stories about how we both knew Scott. I explained that I’d met him two years ago through my involvement with entrepreneurship at MSU.

  Steve told me he’d met Scott over 30 years before, through his involvement with the campus radio at MSU. When Steve and Scott were in college, the campus radio scene was hot. This was back before iTunes, YouTube, and Spotify made music accessible with just a few clicks. Back then, if you wanted to hear the latest track you had to tune into the radio or call and request a song from the DJ.

  Steve was one of those DJs, and he loved it. From a young age he knew he wanted to be in radio. During high school, he and a group of friends created a pirate-radio station that they programmed every day after school. They treated it just like a regular station and focused on making it as professional as possible. Joining campus radio at Michigan State was an obvious next step and one that led to a successful career in the radio industry. Steve told me he never needed to join a fraternity; his friends in campus radio were like family, and that remained true even after 30 years.

  While I had very limited knowledge about radio, I understood Steve’s experience. My “fraternity” in college was a group of entrepreneurs that were crazy enough to think they could each build a company of their own and excited to help others do the same.

  When I told Steve this, he replied that I would end up being friends with many of those students for the rest of my life. We’d go to each others’ weddings, celebrate career successes, and more. He continued to say that we wouldn’t just celebrate great moments; we’d help each other through the tough times too.

  A few years back, when Scott’s daughter was getting married in Florida, Steve flew down to attend the wedding.

  At the time, Scott had a great job but was a considering an opportunity at Michigan State. Steve could see the decision weighing heavily on Scott’s mind, so during the reception he pulled Scott outside to talk. He listened to Scott’s concerns before expressing his opinion that the job would be a perfect fit, something certainly worth pursuing. Steve wasn’t trying to tell Scott what to do or make the decision for him, he just wanted to give an outside perspective and supportive voice.

  Scott ultimately pursued the job and was now thriving at Michigan State.

  Of course, Steve didn’t take credit for Scott’s decision. His advice was just one of the many factors involved. But it was an important piece, since Steve was a trusted friend and confidant.

  I appreciated the story for a number of reasons. For starters, it was comforting to know that everyone—even those we most admire—struggles with moments of uncertainty. More importantly, it made me feel comfortable enough to open up and ask Steve for advice.

  I told him about the goals I was trying to achieve, how I hoped to achieve them, and the uncertainties and concerns I had about the process. Although I had known him for less than 30 minutes, I knew I could trust him to give me encouraging, honest advice about my situation.

  I was right. After listening to my story, Steve asked me questions about things I hadn’t considered and made observations I hadn’t noticed. Then he shared insights from his career experience and the experience he’d had raising two sons.

  By the end of the conversation, the uncertainty of my situation wasn’t quite so overwhelming. Steve helped me see the situation from an objective and practical perspective, rather than the emotional and speculative viewpoint I’d held all weekend. I realized that I had become so wrap
ped up in emotions about my future I wasn’t able to think clearly. I needed someone to help me take a step back and see the situation from a higher level.

  Scott had sent me to Steve because he knew Steve could help me do that.

  * * *

  Cup 48 is an important reminder that there will always be moments of uncertainty in life. But more importantly, there will also always be people who can help us through them—it is just a matter of being brave enough to seek out help and open up.

  It is also a reminder that if you have an opportunity to help someone else, you should take it. Nobody can do it all by themselves.

  Steve Googin

  Greyrock Farms outside Syracuse, New York

  Fresh cow milk

  Many great ideas seem crazy—until they work.

  Cup 49 did not involve any coffee. But it did include raw cow milk.

  I bet you didn’t see that one coming.

  I didn’t either.

  It all began when a crazy idea infiltrated my mind while filling up my car before an eight-day road trip with my friend Rachel: We should find a way to milk a cow!

  In all honesty, I have no idea why I had the idea. Luckily, I knew my travel companion Rachel would be game for the challenge. When I picked her up, I told her the idea, and we began brainstorming ways to make it happen. We weren’t aware of any protocol for finding a cow to milk, so we resorted to telling any stranger we ran into about our idea, hoping we’d somehow find a lead to a dairy cow.

  Our strategy worked. We met a wonderful young woman named Abigail through a travel service called Airbnb, which allows people to rent out space in their homes. We stayed at her barn-turned-renovated-home outside of Syracuse, New York. During our first night, we stayed up well past midnight, getting to know each other. At some point, we brought up our cow-milking quest and Abigail knew the perfect person to help us make it happen: Steve Googin, an acquaintance of hers who worked at an area farm.

  She gave us his phone number; we exchanged a few text messages, and the next day Rachel and I were tromping around Greyrock Farm, learning about crops, cattle, and community-supported agriculture.

  * * *

  Community-supported agriculture (CSA) is a socioeconomic model of agriculture whereby individuals in the community pay a membership fee and in return receive a box of fresh produce each week throughout the farming season. The result is that CSA members get local produce picked at the peak of freshness while farmers have more financial stability and get to connect with the people who eat their food. CSAs have been around for years, but the model is growing in popularity.

  Rachel and I were lucky to visit Greyrock on a pickup day, which meant while we toured the farm, carloads of individuals and families showed up to pick veggies from the neatly stacked bins inside one of the barns. Each person who walked into the barn received a warm welcome from Steve and the other farmers. It was clear that Greyrock was more than just a farm; it was a community of people who cared about each other.

  I had never heard of CSAs, but after listening to Steve explain the details, and watching dozens of members leave with armloads of veggies and smiles on their faces, I loved the idea. It seemed like a desirable alternative to shopping for veggies under the fluorescent lights of an impersonal big-box store. The passion in Steve’s voice as he told us the history of the farm and his story only intensified our fascination for supporting local farming.

  At one time, Greyrock was a dairy farm operated by two women. When the women got older, they needed someone to take over. That’s when they found Matt Volz, a young farmer looking to start a CSA. Matt convinced Steve, who was a friend from high school, to join the crew; although the idea of joining a small sustainable farm in the middle of nowhere might have seemed a little crazy, Steve was easily convinced. He was passionate about the idea and could see its potential to positively impact the community.

  * * *

  After Steve had given us a tour of the farm, we got down to business. Steve led the two dairy cows into the barn for their afternoon milking as Rachel and I nervously followed. It was clear that the cows were used to, and looked forward to, this part of their afternoon. It was also clear that Rachel and I had no idea what we were doing. Luckily. Steve was a great teacher and patiently walked us through the process.

  It’s difficult to accurately describe what it feels like to milk a cow. I suppose “awkward” and “a little frustrating” are fitting adjectives. Most of the milk ended up on the ground instead of in the milk bucket, but it was a fun experience nonetheless. It was certainly not an experience to pass up on if ever given the chance.

  After Rachel and I both had a chance to try, Steve took over and, once both cows were milked, offered us a taste of raw milk from the morning’s milking. I figured it was an acceptable substitute for a cup of coffee—and also a fitting way to celebrate accomplishing our strange quest to milk a cow.

  * * *

  Is milking a cow a spectacular accomplishment? Not really. Many people do it every day.

  But what was a cause for celebration was the fact that we turned a crazy idea into a reality. What we were celebrating was a mentality, a pursuit.

  Two mentalities, really: our attempt to accomplish a challenge and Greyrock’s attempt to innovate a better food system in its community.

  What had begun as something nonsensical had turned into a valuable experience: a lesson in the importance of understanding where food comes from and its ability to build community and nourish the spirit as well as the body. When we left the farm, we had armfuls of fresh veggies and some new friends. We also took away great memories and new knowledge.

  That wouldn’t have happened if we had dismissed the crazy idea before giving it a chance. It wouldn’t have happened if we hadn’t accepted the challenge and followed our curiosity.

  The more I thought about Cup 49, the harder it was to keep the words of Apple CEO Steve Jobs out of my head. I had heard his Stanford commencement speech a few years earlier, but watched it again after his passing, which happened a few weeks before visiting the farm. Within the speech was a quote that I often repeat to myself: Your time is limited; so don’t waste it living someone else’s life.

  Jobs continued, “Don’t be trapped by dogma—which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most importantly, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.”

  Cup 49 was an adventure, a new experience, and, most importantly, a reminder to chase crazy dreams. Because most great ideas seem crazy—until they work.

  Clark Bunting

  Discovery Channel Headquarters in Silver Spring, Maryland

  Medium house coffee

  The way you get from Point A to Point B won’t be a straight line. That’s okay.

  When I met Clark Bunting, he was the president and general manager of Discovery Channel. For the past 25 years, he had been a part of the team that brought to life programs like Planet Earth, Shark Week, and Deadliest Catch.

  He was also a proud Michigan State Spartan, so I reached out to him to see if he’d meet me for coffee while I was in Washington, D.C. on a road trip.

  He said yes, and a few weeks later, I was at the Discovery Headquarters in Silver Spring, Maryland outside of D.C. When I walked into the lobby, I found a massive dinosaur skeleton, photo-lined walls featuring network celebrities, and a great assortment of memorabilia from Discovery shows.

  After I went through security, Clark’s assistant, Laurie, met me in the lobby. We took the elevator up to Clark’s floor, and I waited for him in a small conference room where a picture of Dirty Jobs star Mike Rowe covered in mud stared at me. Clark walked in and introduced himself before we jumped into a conversation that continued as we took the elevator down to the coffee shop on the first floor.

  Clark was often called “the guy who started Shark Week,” so I couldn�
��t resist asking him how he felt about being known for the TV event with a cult following. He humbly pointed out that it had been a team effort before sharing a few amusing stories from the production. Stories that ranged from working with actor Andy Samburg to orchestrating live video shoots of sharks feeding in the middle of the ocean: it was obvious that Clark’s career had been out-of-the-ordinary.

  * * *

  Clark’s original plan had been a career on Capitol Hill. After receiving a Master’s degree from Michigan State, he and his wife had moved to Washington, D.C. where he got a job as a legislative assistant. It was during this job that he realized politics might not be the route for him. He looked at many of the lifestyles of the people who had been on the Hill for years: perpetually stressed and overworked, a high number of failed marriages, and problems with substance abuse. It wasn’t the lifestyle he wanted, so he decided to look for a job elsewhere.

  The job he found was with a young company called Cable Educational Network. He met with the founder, John Hendricks, and realized they shared a similar vision and entrepreneurial spirit. At the time, a big void existed in television programming—there were news, sports, and entertainment channels, but nothing educational. Cable Educational Network set out to change that. The company, which grew rapidly, eventually changed their name to Discovery Channel and became the most widely distributed channel in the world.

  Clark, as one of the original employees, played a pivotal role in the company’s growth. He helped bring many of Discovery’s popular programs to life before taking over as president in 2010. It was a role that he took very seriously. He knew the shows Discovery produced were having an impact on millions of viewers around the world—he was also having a lot of fun.