The Café Experience with the Neon Hoodie and the Red Jacket

The kinda poetic sneak peek into the perception of eternal interconnections.

Photo by Bianca Berg on Unsplash

I’m No Hemingway But I Can Try

Here’s the story of how one can see the world. In terms of relationships. Or interconnections. As a network of mutual interactions, you live in. How one can form an ephemeral bonding experience. Sometimes even without the other party (or entity!) knowing it’s happening.

This will be a story. Not an essay, a guide, or a case study. A glimpse into the mind I found entertaining. For as you’re reading those words, you’re gifting me a spark of your life - your time and attention, I’m eternally grateful for that. I want to give back in a way. To share a spark of my internal life.

Maybe it’s because I’m reading too much of said Hemingway recently and thinking about peeking into glimpses of one’s life. Creating a bond with the author. Merging with him and prolonging his life and mind way beyond the lifespan. Unconsciously making ripples in the world - which we all do all time round. Bash our universes and existences so it creates a butterfly effect.

I’d like to invite you to join me in my train of thought as this excerpt of one’s day asks you to consider perceiving everything as the relationship game of intertwined agents. What for? Beats me. There’s no need to learn quick hacks and best practices here - those are the surface-level solutions. But what about the entire person’s worldview?

The Neon Hoodie

9:00

Last Sunday, I did the same thing as nearly every Sunday. Took my bike and drove to my café. Well, not mine in terms of ownership. I’ve no affiliation - but you get the gist.

However, in the Little Prince's terms, this place is entirely mine.

To you I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world.

This place is unique to me. I’ve got my spots in it. I know regulars and owners. There’s that ecosystem I’m entering once in a while. Filled with the clientele going on with their lives. The clientele I get to know more or less. They come, they go, we never meet each other. Or we start seeing each other nearly every day. Or every month. Every quarter as well.

Today, there was a guy entering this place at the same time as I was. The neon orange hoodie shone brightly in this late April sun. Other than that - yet another person prolly just willing to get some caffeine. (it’s a grand discovery I’m making here, no?)

Picture this, a long wooden bar with a shiny coffee machine and grinders filled to the brim with beans. Those grinders which regularly fill the air with the sharp, yet static sound of breaking coffee into a manageable, coarse form that lands in the brewer’s basket. A couple of taps with one’s tamper and that single thud of injecting the portion into the machine. With a low hum in a couple of seconds, the espresso shot is pulled. Then, clean up, and next, please! Imagine all the sounds and smells that drag us to such places. Combined with the sounds and smells of all of us present there.

What else? A glass case protecting vegan bagels and luscious cakes reflected our curved, relaxed images as we stood in the queue. The eternal struggle with this one, every time I’m here. Shall I have some? What’s new on the menu? Am I craving it or am I simply gluttonous? Oh, there’s the cheesecake. Should I?…

This may surprise you but I ordered my coffee and sat at the table. No cake. The hoodie guy got himself some tea and sat at another table. No cake as well. I pulled out my journal as he did as well. With some brief eye contact established, each submerged himself in scribbling down his own thoughts. With bodies moving around, entering, ordering, drinking, and exiting. So much going on - as one could imagine, during the busy city’s Sunday morning. Disregardfully, we continued scribbling.

9:20

What a journey it was! Down my mind and soul. This time with no grief, stress, or chaos between my sheets. A trip exploring the source of calmness and personal reasoning for having one’s place in the world. This time was good. Reflecting upon those slivers of lives I get to experience as a beholder of some sort - a watcher in this self-contained world. Get that? Spending some me-time with my own thoughts descending on the paper while surrounded by the entire myriad of contexts, thoughts, and stories happening all at once! Exhilarating.

Mr. Theodore

In the meantime, Mr. Theodore was visiting. With his newly trimmed grey hair, limp arm, and crooked, but warm, smile. He’s one of those static elements of the district. There’s no way not to know him if you’re actively participating in the district’s life. And there’s no way he won’t remember your name. But! Be ready for the constant influx of questions and conversation starters - quite often the same every time you see each other.

But you don’t mind. You don’t mind him interrupting your train of thought or him talking about his travels with the local newspaper deliveries. It’s Mr. Theodore. Striking a conversation with him is like an inseparable part of the neighborhood’s life. Like taxes. Or having your favorite bench. Appreciate it like a visit to your gran.

The Neon Departs

11:00

Eventually, an hour passed. Then another thirty or forty-so minutes. With brief pauses to observe the surroundings, I finished with my journal. As the orange hoodie guy did with his. Another glance of acknowledging each other’s work was exchanged. I packed my notebook and pulled out a book. He packed his notebook and zipped the bag. Finally, we were about to part our ways. So we did. I stayed. He left. One last glance with the corner of the eye through the windows spanning across the entire wall that make the interior immensely bright and open.

Nonetheless. I ventured forth with my literature as he with his day - to what extent? I have no idea.

Doesn’t matter.

To me, he was nothing more than a guy like a hundred thousand other guys. We didn’t tame each other and we shan’t need each other. To me, he is not unique in all the world whatsoever. I don’t even remember his face. Just that hoodie.

But this experience is. Those moments we spent in each other’s vicinity, bound with a similar principle. With pens in our hands and fingertips tracking the paper’s dry surface.

All of this in MY cafe.

Which, to me, was nothing more than a cafe like a hundred thousand other cafes. But I tamed it. So that I need it. To me, this place is unique in all the world.

At least for a while. Until I move again. Relocate, change my habits. Create new connections and relations. But it’s forever there - in the “carbon-based blockchain” of the mind. Huh, gotta write that down.

The Cliché In Red

12:30

As I wrote these words, a woman in red entered the venue. (Told you it’s cliché) That one I know. As we have lived next to each other for months already. The same neighborhood, the same cafe, and the same yoga studio.

A discussion was struck. On education, PhDs, and anthropology. Glimpses of each other’s lives were shown. With smiles, curiosity, and follow-up questions. No better way to get outside of one’s bubble! And, since the week passed already, I can tell you some of those random convos seriously impacted my upcoming month. Simply by injecting an idea.

Then! After a prolonged chat, interrupted in the meantime by incoming additional coffees, the interaction equilibrium was achieved. The red jacket landed on the chair, the computer opened on the table next to mine. The conversation was over. She proceeded with her thesis. I proceeded with writing those words.

In the meantime - some comments on pissing off Italians for ordering milk coffee after 12. Some sighs, head scratches, and checking one’s phone. Until I closed my device, packed a bag, and got ready to part our ways. And I ventured forth with my day, as she did with hers. To which extent? We have no faint idea.

We’ll be back with such moments the next time we see each other. In a week, a month, or half a year. But those will be back. And those ripples will interfere with our lives’ surfaces.

To us, we’re just a little more than a person like a hundred thousand other people. But we kinda tamed each other in a way we don’t need each other. To us, we’re not yet unique in all the world.

But that one experience is. Same as this of you reading what I’m typing right now.

The Emergent Nature of Experiences

All of those are somewhat results of relationships. With places, inanimate objects, and concepts. People we don’t know, those we kinda do, and some we think to understand. There’re no business relationships. There’re no close relationships. There are relations of some sort. A temporary invisible link between you and the other entity in this universe. Would you give it a thought?

There are so many lives we engage with through our lifespan. So many connections with places, people, or thoughts. Everything intertwining with each other. With you, holding onto your piece of string. Weaving your own network of places, people, and thoughts. With even the faintest smile to a stranger on a street building your tapestry.

My entire world is the one composed of those strings and knots. Particles hitting each other and bouncing off each other. Particles hitting each other and sticking together. Beings existing solely in relation to other beings.

My relationship with the city, district, and the neighborhood.

My relationship with places, contexts, and rituals.

My relationship with regulars, far acquaintances, and strangers.

With myself, my journal, and you.

I’m glad you’re part of it.