What I write when I don’t know what to write

Some days I sit down with the intention to write something profound. Other days, I just want to watch my coffee brew. This is a piece about both.

I’ve opened this draft three times, thought of eight different titles, and now I’m writing this sentence with the emotional energy of a sock.

Whenever I sit down to write, I subconsciously expect myself to say something meaningful. I scroll through other blog posts on here and immediately feel the urge to churn out a think piece of my own as if I need to prove, again and again, that I am in fact, a writer. So I think. I think of titles. I think of how to make them interesting. Sometimes it’s melancholy. Other times it’s a smart, winding monologue in my head. But always, there’s this pressure to make sense. To be perceived correctly.

But lately, I’ve found comfort in things that don’t demand sense or structure from me. Small rituals that ask nothing of my intellect, but just my presence.

Like brewing my own coffee.

Illustration by ElenKoss via Pinterest

A subtle shift from the usual instant powder (though Nescafé Gold will always have a place on my kitchen shelf), it began when I bought a moka pot during a sale at work. It’s a small black pot with the initials S&N, from the couture label Shantnu and Nikhil, and it brews just one cup. I love the whole ritual; filling the water chamber up to the safety valve, scooping a heaping tablespoon of coffee into the filter funnel, sealing the top shut, and carefully placing it on the stove. While it brews, I slip into my own chamber of thoughts about nothings and every things. Today, I was thinking about what to wear to work tomorrow, then about a piece I read describing grief as glitter. I briefly considered whether I should toast a couple of slices of bread and butter to go with my coffee. And then, just as quickly, my brain jumped to the Monday pitch meeting and how I still hadn’t thought of any solid ideas. But by then, the moka pot is full. The coffee is brewed. And I pause. I forget everything I was just thinking about for those four minutes, and the noise inside me goes still.

Sometimes, all I want is to watch my coffee brew and pour it slowly into my big beige mug, the one almost the size of my head.

So here it is, the piece I wrote when I didn’t know what to write.
And honestly? It’s exactly what I needed to say.