UPDATE: Oh hurrah! Oh joy! I found my mug! Phew. I really wasn’t feeling all that Zen.
Rainy, sticky, bleak sadness—today feels just like a Monday (sorry, Dive, not all of us carry a Freak Flag for Mondays). Even worse, because I’m convinced that I lost my favorite travel mug to stupidity. Part of me holds out hope that I just left my mug on the kitchen table, but deep down I’m certain that I left my faithful friend on the roof of my car and drove off without it. My efforts to be Zen about this and realize that attachment to material possessions leads to suffering have me rolling my eyes at myself. Gimme my damn mug back, Universe!
If I have indeed lost my dear mug, it will be the end of an era for me. In my rant about Starbucks (see earlier link), I shared that my travel mug came from Coffee Connection, the late, mourned Boston coffee roaster taken over by Starbucks in the early 90s. I’d never really held onto a travel mug before, but I kept that one as a symbol of my resolve to resist the McDonaldization of coffee. Until coffee permeated its plastic pores, I used the mug for everything from coffee to booze to water to life itself. That mug was my appendage as a graduate student—people rarely saw me without it. Even my inspirational Nietzsche mug failed to displace its prominence in my life. That mug traveled with me to Montana and came home with me again. I’ve taken the mug to rock shows, anti-globalization rallies, and peace vigils. It made the transition from backpack to brief case, allowing me to start my work morning with something other than bland, flavorless, inorganic colored water. Although Fluff has accompanied me on my exotic travels, my travel mug has been my faithful friend through the drudgery of day-to-day life.
Over the years, the Coffee Connection logo faded from washing, and the handle for the lid chipped off. The lid has scratch marks galore, and I prefer to ignore those studies about the linings of travel mugs as terrariums for unknown life forms. Ugly as it became, my mug is my friend. Its heft and feel are as familiar to me as my own hand. And so although I know that I shouldn’t form attachments to material things, I have a very strong attachment to my travel mug. I want it back. I want to go home and find it sitting on my kitchen table, laughing at me. Or, at least find it, unharmed, close to where I parked my car. Alas, I fear I may have to accept that I finally lost it, find a new mug, and start a new chapter.
Anyone know any good mantras?