A Cup of Coffee, a Good Friend, and the Surprises of Life

No one asks the coffee bean how it became so rich.

It simply became something wonderful after enduring pressure, heat and time.

Life is much the same.

Most of us have been through a little roasting of our own. We have endured pressure, experienced disappointments, lost people we loved, changed direction, started over and occasionally wondered what on earth was going to happen next.

Yet here we are.

A little older. A little wiser. Perhaps a little more grateful for the simple things.

And one of those simple things is sitting across the table from a friend with a cup of coffee between you.

The best conversations don't happen when we are watching the clock. They happen when we put down the phone, look someone in the eye and ask, "How are you today?"

Then, and this is the important part, we need to actually listen to the answer.

We live in a world where communication has become remarkably easy. We can send a message to someone on the other side of the world in seconds. We can email, text, post, comment, like and share.

Yet sometimes, with all these ways of communicating, we seem to have forgotten how to talk.

A real conversation takes time.

It requires curiosity. It requires listening. Sometimes it requires silence.

And occasionally it requires another cup of coffee.

Funny how a two-dollar cup of coffee can leave you feeling like a million bucks.

But friendship isn't just about looking backward and remembering the good times. Good friends also help us look forward.

That brings me to another thought I've been considering lately: perhaps there aren't recurring themes in our lives as much as there are recurring choices.

We choose whether to reach out.

We choose whether to answer the phone.

We choose whether to accept an invitation.

We choose whether to remain curious about what might happen next.

And we choose whether to leave a little room in our lives for surprise.

As we get older, it is tempting to think we know how the rest of the story is going to unfold. We have lived long enough to recognize patterns. We know what usually happens. We have learned to be cautious.

But what if the next chapter contains something we couldn't possibly have planned?

What if a casual conversation over coffee introduces you to someone who changes the direction of your life?

What if an old friend calls after years of silence?

What if you say yes to an invitation, you nearly turned down and discover a new interest, a new group of friends or an entirely new adventure?

What if a stranger hears something you have written or something you have done and says, "I think you should meet someone"?

Life has a funny way of opening doors we didn't know were there.

Sometimes the most interesting things happen when we stop trying to orchestrate every moment.

So, when you imagine your future, don't visualize only the things you have carefully planned.

Leave some room for magic.

Imagine yourself laughing with friends about the bizarre chain of events that somehow brought you to an unexpected opportunity.

Imagine the phone ringing with an invitation you never expected.

Imagine meeting someone who becomes an important friend.

Imagine discovering that something you thought was a small decision turns out to be the beginning of a much bigger adventure.

And don't forget the coffee.

Because friendship often begins with something remarkably ordinary.

"Want to grab a coffee?"

That simple question can become an afternoon conversation.

The conversation can become a friendship.

The friendship can become an adventure.

And the adventure can become one of those stories you tell for years.

Perhaps that's one of the secrets of getting older: we don't have to manufacture magic. We simply need to remain open enough to recognize it when it appears.

So, call someone.

Invite them for coffee.

Ask how they are doing, and then give them enough time to tell you.

You might discover that they needed the conversation as much as you did.

And who knows?

You might even discover that the next surprising chapter of your life begins with two people sitting across a table, two cups of coffee, and a question as simple as:

"So, what have you been up to?"

The Coffee Shop

"Isn't it strange how you can find metaphors for life almost anywhere?

Take a neighborhood coffee shop.

Everyone arrives carrying something invisible. Worries. Deadlines. Loneliness. Excitement. Hope.

Some stay five minutes. Others linger for hours.

No one asks the coffee bean how it became so rich. It only became something wonderful after enduring pressure, heat, and time.

Life is much the same.

The best conversations happen when we stop watching the clock, look someone in the eye, and simply ask, "How are you today?"

Funny how a two-dollar cup of coffee can leave you feeling like a million bucks.

Remember Your Halloween Adventures?

Do you remember your best Halloween?

Not the Halloween when you got the most candy.

Not necessarily the Halloween when you had the best costume.

I'm talking about the Halloween you still remember.

Perhaps you were six years old, wearing a costume your mother made at the kitchen table. Maybe you were a ghost, a cowboy, a princess or something that was supposed to be a monster but looked more like a pile of old blankets.

Perhaps you remember going door to door with your friends, carrying a pillowcase that seemed enormous at the beginning of the evening and somehow wasn't big enough by the time you came home.

Maybe you remember the house with the best candy.

Every neighbourhood had one.

There was always a house where you knew you were going to get the good stuff.

And there may have been another house that gave you an apple.

An apple!

You probably didn't appreciate the nutritional wisdom of that homeowner at the time.

You were on a mission.

Candy was the currency.

Halloween was an adventure.

And that's what I want us to remember this Halloween.

Because there will be thousands of little adventurers heading out into our neighbourhoods today.

Some will be tiny.

Some won't be so tiny anymore.

Some will be dressed as superheroes. Some will be witches, ghosts, firefighters, princesses, monsters or characters from movies and video games we don't recognize.

Some costumes will be homemade.

Some will look as though they cost more than the house they are visiting.

Some children will be shy and barely whisper, “Trick or treat.”

Others will announce themselves as though they have been elected mayor of Halloween.

And there will be teenagers.

Some of us may be tempted to think they are too old to be going door to door.

I would suggest we give them a break.

Maybe Halloween is one of the few nights when they are still allowed to be kids.

Maybe they aren't quite ready to give up the magic.

Maybe they are creating a memory they will carry for the next 70 years.

We don't know what we don't know.

And that includes what is happening inside the head of the child standing at our door.

Perhaps that costume took weeks to put together.

Perhaps the child has been looking forward to this night for months.

Perhaps they are nervous.

Perhaps they are having a difficult year and tonight gives them a chance to forget about it for a few hours.

Perhaps this is their first Halloween in the neighbourhood.

Perhaps this is their last Halloween before they decide they are too old.

We don't know.

But we can make the few seconds they spend at our door memorable.

We can smile.

We can say, “Great costume!”

We can ask their name.

We can let them choose their candy.

We can laugh with them.

And when the teenagers arrive, we can resist the temptation to say, “Aren't you a little old for this?”

Instead, perhaps we can say, “Happy Halloween!”

Because here's the thing.

One day, those children will be sitting where we are sitting.

They'll be the ones answering the door.

They'll be the ones buying the candy.

And they'll remember the people who made Halloween special.

Maybe they'll remember the grandmother who always had the best treats.

Maybe they'll remember the man who complimented their costume.

Maybe they'll remember the house where someone handed them two pieces of candy instead of one.

We may never know that we have become part of someone's childhood memory.

That's a pretty wonderful thought.

We spend a lot of time talking about what we leave behind as we get older.

Money.

Houses.

Photographs.

Possessions.

But perhaps one of the most important things we leave behind is much smaller.

A memory.

A smile.

A kind word.

A moment when somebody felt welcome.

Halloween gives us a chance to do that.

So, this year, when the doorbell rings and you hear that familiar chorus of “Trick or treat!”, remember the child you once were.

Remember the excitement.

Remember the costumes.

Remember the pillowcase.

Remember running from house to house with your friends.

Remember believing that the world was full of possibilities.

And then open the door.

Welcome the adventurers.

Because that's what they are.

They are heading out into the darkness, knocking on doors they have never knocked on before, meeting people they don't know, wearing costumes that allow them to become somebody, or something else for a night.

They are discovering.

They are exploring.

They are making memories.

They are having an adventure.

And isn't that exactly what we were talking about?

You don't know what you don't know.

Those children don't know what adventures life has waiting for them.

Neither do we.

So, let's encourage them to explore.

Let's give them a little candy and a lot of encouragement.

And perhaps, while we're at it, let's remind ourselves that we don't have to stop having adventures just because we've accumulated a few more birthdays.

This Halloween, don't just hand out candy.

Hand out a welcome.

Smile at the little ones.

Smile at the not-so-little ones.

And when you close the door after the last trick-or-treater has disappeared into the night, take a moment to remember your own Halloween adventures.

You may discover that the magic was never really about the candy.

It was about being young, being curious, being brave enough to knock on a stranger's door and discover what was on the other side.

That's something none of us should ever outgrow.

Life Is an Adventure, If You Let It Be One

There is a phrase I have come to appreciate more as I get older:

You don't know what you don't know.

It sounds obvious, doesn't it?

But think about it for a moment.

We spend much of our lives collecting knowledge. We go to school. We learn a trade or profession. We raise families. We travel. We make mistakes. We fall in love. We lose people we love. We change jobs. We buy houses. We learn how to deal with disappointment, celebrate success and somehow get through all the things life throws at us.

After eight decades, I've learned a few things.

I've also learned that every time I think I finally understand how something works, someone, or something, comes along and proves me wrong.

And that's not necessarily a bad thing.

In fact, I think that's the point.

Life isn't about confirming everything we already believe.

It's about discovering what we don't know.

When we are young, we expect to learn.

When we get older, there can be a temptation to think we've already learned enough.

We've been there.

We've done that.

We've seen it before.

We know how this story ends.

But do we?

Probably not.

Every generation experiences things that previous generations never imagined. Technology changes. Medicine changes. The way we communicate changes. The way we work changes. The way we travel changes.

And we change, too.

That last part is easy to overlook.

The person I was at 30 isn't the person I am at 80.

I've accumulated experiences, friendships, disappointments, successes and failures that have changed the way I see the world. Some things I believed strongly when I was younger have changed. Other beliefs have become stronger.

That's what happens when we remain open to learning.

One of the things I enjoy about getting older is that I no longer feel I have to know the answer to every question.

I can simply ask.

“Why?”

“How does that work?”

“What do you think?”

“What am I missing?”

Those are powerful questions.

And they can take us places we never expected to go.

That's why I still ask questions.

It's why I still talk to strangers.

You never know what story the person sitting beside you has to tell.

You never know what you might learn from someone half your age, or twice your age.

It's why I still take the occasional wrong turn.

Sometimes intentionally.

There is something wonderful about not knowing exactly what is around the next corner.

We tend to think of a wrong turn as a mistake.

Sometimes it is.

But sometimes a wrong turn becomes an adventure.

You discover a little café.

You find a beautiful walking trail.

You meet somebody interesting.

You see something you would have missed if you had stayed on the planned route.

Some of the best parts of life aren't found on the itinerary.

They happen because something didn't go according to plan.

That is particularly important in retirement.

For decades, many of us lived by schedules.

School schedules.

Work schedules.

Family schedules.

Appointments.

Deadlines.

Meetings.

Then suddenly we retire and discover that nobody is telling us where we need to be tomorrow morning.

At first, that can be unsettling.

But it can also be an invitation.

An invitation to explore.

Try something you've never tried.

Take a class.

Learn how to use technology instead of complaining that technology has ruined everything.

Go somewhere you've never been.

Talk to someone you don't know.

Read something outside your usual interests.

Volunteer somewhere different.

Try a new food.

Take a different route home.

Say yes occasionally when your first instinct is to say, “That's not really my thing.”

You might discover that it is.

And if you don't like it?

You've learned something, too.

That's the beauty of curiosity.

There is no failure in discovering that something isn't for you.

You simply know more than you did before.

The danger isn't getting older.

The danger is deciding that because we are older, there is nothing left to discover.

I don't want to live that way.

I don't want to spend my remaining years simply repeating what I already know.

I want to be surprised.

I want to learn something that makes me say, “I didn't know that.”

I want to meet people who challenge the way I think.

I want to hear stories I haven't heard before.

I want to take a few more wrong turns.

I want to leave some room in my life for the unexpected.

Because perhaps that's what an adventure really is.

It isn't necessarily climbing a mountain, travelling around the world or doing something dangerous.

An adventure can be as simple as walking through a door you've never opened before.

At our age, we have something young people don't yet have yet, decades of experience.

But young people have something we should never lose, the willingness to discover.

We need both.

Experience gives us confidence.

Curiosity keeps us growing.

So don't be afraid to say, “I don't know.”

Those three words aren't a sign of weakness.

They are an invitation.

“I don't know.”

“Tell me.”

“Show me.”

“Let's find out.”

After eight decades, I keep coming back to the same lesson:

You don't know what you don't know.

And that's not something to fear.

It's something to celebrate.

Because somewhere out there, perhaps around the next corner, in the next conversation, on the next unexpected journey, is something you haven't experienced yet.

So, keep asking.

Keep looking.

Keep exploring.

Keep going.

And continue the conversation

Take the occasional wrong turn.

Whatever you do, don't close the door on an adventure simply because you think you've already seen everything.

You haven't.

Neither have I.

And that's what makes tomorrow interesting and what makes it more interesting is all the ghosts, goblins, superheros and witches who will vist us tomorrow on Halloween.