Maria Arozamena
Content warning: this article includes mentions of disordered eating
I love coffee. Coffee in every form. Every morning, I begin the day with a coffee from wherever sounds appealing. This choice is one so simple, yet so weighted with choice and habit. It has become borderline meditative for me, an anchor to the day in the endless stream of my academic and social demands. Coffee varies greatly between coffee shops. Atticus Cafe iced lattes are sharp with a faint flavor, Poindexter Cafe lattes have the notable taste of the Torani syrups and Common Grounds lattes are variably sweet. No two coffees are the same, not even ones from the same store. A Dunkin’ iced coffee with two creams and two sugars tastes different based on the person who makes it, the brew of the coffee that day, and sometimes the atmospheric pressure. These specifics may not be scientifically verified, but they’re felt on a visceral level by coffee connoisseurs all across the country.
The decision on where to get coffee usually occurs the night prior. I meditate on the day ahead, and in meditating, I decide what coffee option will optimize the day. I lie my head on the pillow, I think about what sounds the best for the morning, weighing the merits of each cup. Dunkin’ is always the cheapest, but occasionally a cost-benefit analysis trumps that choice based on the long walk to Chapel Street from the other side of campus. If I am feeling the seasonal spirit, Starbucks has the best seasonal flavors, a hallmark of their capitalistic prowess. Atticus proves to be more expensive, but their espresso is of higher quality. And if I happen to crawl out of my crypt too late in the morning, I am faced with the choice between making the coffee with the Nespresso in my room or swallowing the Sumatra blend in the dining hall. Coffee is the first thing to interact with my digestive system. I find in the mornings, the effects are maximized when taken on an empty stomach.
The second the first drop hits my tongue, I can feel my brain come alive. The world snaps into focus, and suddenly I possess the intellectual strength to deal with the day. With the first coffee, my thinking is poignant and directed. I trust the coffee to sustain me, at least until noon, until an incomprehensible lecture or a dense seminar section requires me to charge up again. A mid-day treat.
At this point in the day, I have a plethora of different options, which usually deviate from my morning haunts. After my last class of the day, I go to Jitter Bus, one of Yale’s coffee shops, or I revert to one of the reliable morning chain coffee shops. By this time, the first hunger of the day comes and is ignored. I am satiated with another coffee, to spend the afternoon working on a paper, notes, or a problem set.
Social media and society have always revered the coffee culture, creating such a wonderful depiction of it for consumers. Starbucks and Dunkin’ give us interesting and sometimes delicious seasonal flavors like peppermint mocha, pumpkin spice, pistachio and even an olive oil latte, leaving us consumers addicted to at least one of their concoctions. Television gave us the “Gilmore Girls” who consume coffee so rapidly and abundantly that Rory must’ve always been shaking while reading and working at the Yale Daily News. The elite college culture gives us immense amounts of work and studying that we must adapt to by means of various vices, one of those being coffee.
One thing I have learned from trying to always fill every waking hour of my day, frequently to my demise, is that the nervous system simply cannot, and will not do it alone. It desires a little pick me up during the day, but like a drug, coffee will take a toll on your nervous system once the caffeine in your bloodstream reaches a certain concentration. If the gentle balance of caffeine and consciousness is disrupted, this anchor to my reality and productivity can easily collapse, leaving me unmoored to face the repercussions of my vice.
As the afternoon fades away into the evening, I begin to feel a pit forming in my stomach. Having skipped breakfast and lunch, I am now vulnerable to the jittery emotions that only exist on an empty stomach full of caffeine. The pangs of excessive worrying begin to creep into my vision. While typing a paper, a text from an unknown number comes up, sending me to check the message to ensure nothing dire is happening. It is just a text from World Market telling me they are having a sale. Everything feels closer to you, news and events gain proximity. I check my email to find an article from The New York Times, and upon clicking the link I learn about an issue that I didn’t even know existed, leading me to explore the issue via Google. This rabbit hole always leads me to find a thousand other little tragedies to cloud my vision and worry me into a state of motionlessness.
Rare ailments become reality, crossing the threshold from something bound in a textbook to an assailant attacking your immune system. The knot in my neck metastasizes into a malignant tumor. Are my lymph nodes swelling? WebMD says the chances of survival are slim. Doubts cloud your vision. Am I smart enough to be here? I don’t think the people in my English class think so.
This storm swells in my mind, oscillating between different maladies and worries until I crash out into bed, immobile and static. This derailing in the afternoon leaves me unproductive and stressed about my future and the tasks at hand. The coffee ritual comes with a cost.
Despite the number of times I have been through this feeling, I always get lost in trying to find a way out of this headspace. It is as if the neural circuits in my brain are blocked by espresso, milk, and syrup preventing me from making logical decisions. When mixed with my innate need to overextend myself, I crash out into oblivion.
The only way to fix this predicament is to first acknowledge what is causing it: my lack of food. Next, I call my mom in my frenzied state, and she asks how many cups of coffee I have had, followed by a tally of the meals and snacks I have eaten that day. The ratio is usually three coffees to no meals. This then prompts her to lecture me about the way caffeine interacts with our system, sending me into a defensive state, adding to my agitation. Then she reminds me about all the times this has happened before, and I swear that has never happened, ever. But, at her recommendation, I go to eat and have some water.
Once the anxiety has subsided, I can finally sleep. I lay my head down on the pillow, grateful to be back at my baseline, grounded in reality. I begin to take deep breaths to lull myself into a restorative rest. In the last moments of my evening, I catalog the events of the day – recounting things I am grateful for and things that made me cringe. I also begin to think about the events that will follow, a problem set to do, office hours to attend, and a friend I need to catch up with. This usually prompts me to ask myself questions that will guide my movements the next day to ensure all of this gets done. What time should I text her about going to get lunch? When will I study for my midterm? How will I avoid being unproductive? Where will I get coffee in the morning?