Thoughts from my Head

I just passed my assistant barista test. Which, in the Coffea world, is a big deal. It means you’ve graduated to the level of actually putting drinks out to customers. Of pulling beautiful shots over and over, of steaming milk to a brilliant, gorgeous texture, of temping to the temperature that makes milk magically transform into the sweetest of silk. Of putting that out time after time after time, whether or not the customer can actually tell a difference between your labor of love and whatever a sixteen-year-old whipped out with a blender and some flavor. Oh, and a little blackened espresso.

Nothing against sixteen-year-olds, btw. Emma Smith, you know who you are.

But the point isn’t whether or not anyone realizes the quality of your shot or the perfection of your milk. The point is it’s perfect. It’s a shot that keeps the integrity of a product that has been pampered throughout its existence. Grown with care, processed for quality, roasted with precision, brewed for the perfect cup. Everything we do is excellent. And, not to be cheesy, but Jenna taught me that. Coffea taught me that.

I recently had a conversation with a woman from New York, a Ph.D from Columbia, to be precise. We made small talk for a while, but the conversation came alive when I happened to mention I worked at a Roasterie and Espresso Bar. Even from the name you realize this is not your run-of-the-mill coffee chain and the conversation simply flowed from there.

It’s a beautiful thing to discover a person’s passion. To watch them come to life when you touch on a topic that dwells in their heart. And perhaps the only thing to surpass it is when you’ve carried the same love in your heart as well. Then you can barely wait for them to finish before you chime in with agreement and one more, “Yes! Do you know about this?” When she heard we cupped coffee, she sighed in contentment. When I found out the first thing she did in Chicago was find Intelligentsia, I nodded in approval. We had found a mutual love, and in that one tiny piece of our lives, our hearts beat as one.

Somewhere in the course of the conversation, I mentioned that all the wonderful things I had learned from my time at Coffea could be summed up in the word excellence. Excellence in every stage, from bean to cup. From the coffee to the customer service, all is done with excellence.

Our food is made from scratch. Our syrups are either made in-house or purchased from the best companies. Our chocolate is shaved in the grinder in the back. Our coffee is roasted right there in the shop Monday-Friday. All of our coffees undergo extensive checks, tastings, and experimental roastings to discover how to best reveal its own natural flavor. Our employees are trained extensively with tests to rise from one rung to the next.

Ok, I’m done bragging. I love Coffea. And I love Coffea because it is something I can be proud of. When I hand someone a product from Coffea, I know it is beautiful. I know it is something they will love. I work my hardest because we have a name we have built up and it is my responsibility to uphold that name. It’s my job to make Jenna proud because she’s a boss worth making proud.

But the point in all my effusions is that Coffea is excellent. In every way. And so, being the philosophers we are, this woman and I began to discuss the nature of excellence. She remarked that excellence, for better or for worse, is something she has seen most exemplified in two friends who are not Christians. One an Atheist, one a Buddhist, they have dedicated themselves to doing everything with passion and excellence that is worthy of the task before them. Or, perhaps, if the task does not seem to deserve such excellence, to doing it in such a way that it is elevated to worth beyond what it seemed to have.

Now there’s a concept. Seriously. Just think about that for a minute.

Even the class that seems like a colossal waste of time could be elevated by excellence? Could be made worth your time if only you actually invested some time? The person who only ever wastes your time could be elevated by choosing to see that time as worth it? That your very life could be made more worth living by excellence?

That’s crazy shit there. I’m not sure I’m ready to think about that.

So I guess here’s where the stories come together. I’m a Christian. The people Heather had learned excellence from were not Christians. And that makes me ask myself some questions.

Would anyone learn excellence from me? And if they don’t… shouldn’t they? Shouldn’t I, as a Christian be more radically invested in excellence than anyone? Perhaps I should insert a caveat. When I say radically invested I don’t mean someone who simply becomes so absorbed in the elusive concept of perfection that they forget to live life. Not someone who neglects relationships in favor of work, who has no concept of healthy priorities. I mean, quite simply, someone who strives to be as excellent as she can be in any given situation, whatever form that may take.

As a Christian, I have more reason for that than anyone else. Christians believe that our mortal lives have value, deep intrinsic value. We believe that God is invested in our lives, in our very selves, that He has created us and chosen us and therefore our lives are always “worth it.” Somehow our earthly lives reflect our salvation, our love for Christ and our transformation. Do everything for the glory of God. As working for Him? Sound familiar?

And here’s the other question I’ve been asking myself. What if I was as dedicated to excellence in every area of my life as I am at Coffea? To become an Assistant Barista at Coffea you have to take a pretty extensive exam, essentially making most of the drinks on our menu, perhaps a few times over. I was making drinks for a solid hour and a half before I was declared worthy of assbar-dom. And I was completely unwilling to take that test until I knew I could pass. I practiced and practiced, not satisfied until my milk was the perfect texture.

My mentor told me it’s my violinist-perfectionist nature that did it for me. Yep.

I’ve been a perfectionist as long as I can remember. Seriously, I remember crying over missing questions on tests in elementary school. From there it increased into mildly-to-concerningly unhealthy drive for perfection. Since college I have managed to tame that. I realized that perfection is not all that matters, that life is more than grades, and that sometimes you just have to take the B.

But sometimes you don’t. Because yes, sometimes the B is what you deserved. Sometimes you give it your best and you still missed something. Sometimes the B is the only way you can learn whatever lesson you had to learn.

But sometimes you’re just lazy and would rather watch the food network than study.

And that’s what I’m learning. That excellence is worth fighting through a senioritis-driven lack of motivation for. It’s worth dedicating time to.

Thoughts from my head. The end.