The life of a coffee machine is not so different than mine. 

This troubling thought occurred to me one morning as I shot an espresso on the way to the stoop while picturing in successive sensory snapshots the sound of the machine coming alive in the dark of morning, the creak of the water tank lid, water splashing in, the flashing boiler light, the group head waiting patiently in the drawer, the grinding of beans, the pressing of grounds, the fastening of the still sleepy group head to the cuff of the machine and then 15 bars of pressure firing into the abyss of a black mug.

The groundhog dayesque recall of a morning routine I’d been enjoying for going on three years now left me wondering if five years down the line I’d be content doing the same thing. 

This led me to meditate on the manner in which I spend the rest of my day as well, a thought which itself led to another series of shots coalescing into a shallow film staring a guy who goes to work, comes home and goes to bed. 

No question I looked forward each and every morning to this routine but picturing all of my mornings and days smashed together made for a depressing homage to ritual. 

If coffee machines were personified versions of ourselves, and we, the routine activating them, how was I really behaving any differently from my coffee maker?

On the surface, of course, I wasn’t. 

The fact that things, as Sartre explained, exist in themselves while humans exist for themselves does not presuppose a richer life for the human being. In fact, the opposite is true. The monotony and emptiness in one’s performing the same task in the same way in the same place day after day is not only an actual human experience, but an actual human experience that humans feel poignantly. 

Still, to suppose I was living the life of a low end Breville machine was a bit dramatic. I was the one with the frontal lobe after all – the Breville would not presumably be picturing its own life in all its meaninglessness unfold in moving photographs. That was at least something. But was the fact of my being able to ruminate about my circumstances an indication that I was living the better life?

You’d think yes. 

But so many of us feel differently. 

So many look at the Breville machine and think, you know what buddy, I’d be ok trading places for the day. 

Because life is hard. 

We ruminate. 

We worry. 

Feel feel shame. 

Embarassment. 

We make poor decisions. 

We get stuck. 

All while the coffee machine sits blissfully unaware on the counter.

Truth is, we all, from time to time find ourselves living the life of a low end Breville because equipped as we are with the machinery enabling us to imagine a better future and act in the interest of that future, we still, in the face of challenging circumstances, succumb to feelings of resignation resulting in non-action. 

We forget in other words that we aren’t things. That we are not designed to fulfill a purpose to someone else’s end. That we have not been endowed with characteristics suited to whatever bean grinding task we mistakenly assume defines us. In so thinking, we reduce an otherwise rich life to one of monotony and boredom as depicted in the visual collage of a dude making a coffee morning after morning until either the Breville or the dude dies. 

But life doesn’t have to be about the motions. We don’t have to pin meaning to our jobs, our wins, our losses, the opinions of others nor to circumstance. The richness of life cannot be found in what we do. It can only be found in how we think about what we do and what we do about how we think. 

To think otherwise is to expect more from our circumstances than we demand of ourselves. And when we let this mentality govern our faculties, resignation and apathy are just around the corner because our circumstances care as little for us as the Breville does about its own calcium build up. 

So how do we change this mentality? How to internalise that routine is not a destination to be avoided, dreaded or feared, but instead, a vehicle to be commandeered to a better end?

The answer lies in what the Breville doesn’t notice. 

Light cascading though the sliding glass doors from a gibbous moon. 

The aroma of fresh ground coffee.

The smooth feel of the handle. 

The weight of the mug.

 The first sip. 

Circumstances produce the above sensations. When we notice them (the sensations), life gets richer. 

Therefore it is not enough to be aware of one’s circumstance. When circumstance is all we are aware of, as illustrated at the beginning of this post via depressing montage, it can be counter productive. We must train ourselves too to pay attention to the personality of those tasks in which we are engaged (aka that which characterizes circumstance): the nuances of action. The idiosyncrasies of habit. Not because doing so will make us happy. This is what awareness training gets wrong – noticing, even appreciating, on its own, does not manifest as a happier human being. 

It is, for certain a key ingredient – for without observation, there can be no examination. But this, the gathering of the material through which our humanity can at some point be restored is only the first step. 

What to do with the material, and whether it is possible and in our interest to manufacture circumstance in the name of more directed observation – this represents the next line of inquiry. 

For now, start easy. Pay more attention. Get to know a given circumstance more intimately. Take time to look around, to notice, and importantly, to note. 

Or take a seat on the counter beside the coffee machine.

JM.