Coffee, mate?

I walked into the nearest empty café, its bright mismatched decor reinforcing its emptiness.

The interview I had did not leave me filled in confidence, the receptionist’s cold hello threw me off, but I wasn’t going to let that throw me off. Once inside the interview a wave of anxiety and nervous hit me hard, all the prep I had done out the window. I sounded as though I applied on a whim. 

 I order my coffee. Thinking of all the materialistic things I had given up, my car, my flat, my independence and my job, my space. In moments like this all this sound like security - of course they are - I count myself very very very lucky to have a level of security afforded to me as I seek out ‘this’. Whatever ‘this’ is. 

‘This’ ain't settling though. 

I know giving up is not an option. Admitting when it feels hard, I am learning is part of the process. After failure eventually success comes. At what point of the process do you have to review if what you are doing is what you are supposed to be doing? What other way can I get into these spaces without the rigamarole of interviews? I am aware of what I can bring into these spaces, I am also aware of how much learning I need to do.

I look at my coffee and laugh, its not worth what I paid for it. What is it was I am really looking for? This thought catches me off guard, the bus stop is outside, why hadn’t I just gone home?

A bag full of unspent emotions lay deep inside me. I screamed, I kicked and begged for clarity. 

The only indication, the silent tears that fell, the hand in head and pen in hand. 

Empty public spaces have become the arenas in which my tears flow abundantly. 

I guess I paid for a space to cry. Even if the coffee was WAAAAAACCK and low-key overpriced. 

P.s Should cafés charge the price of a jar of coffee for one trash cup? I think not.