And Then There’s Me

I was flicking through LinkedIn earlier today when I came across someone I went to uni with. We both graduated with a First in Politics, but our paths diverged soon after and she is now a Senior Policy Analyst at a globally recognised institute.

That caught me out. I got to thinking how there are other people, people whose lives overlapped closely with mine, who are also doing amazing things: speaking at industry conventions, winning national awards - even receiving MBEs.

And then there’s me.

A 28-year-old, single barista. Not exactly where I imagined I’d be when I was growing up, hoping to be important to the world, both on a macro and a micro scale. Nor is it where I thought I’d be when I was helping lead an organisation shortlisted for Charity of the Year, or campaigning for and implementing new services at a company managing over £2bn in assets.

I’m happier now than I’ve been for a while.

And look at that: straight into the measuring contest, digging out what I can show off so I can tangibly demonstrate my worth. It’s hard not to when you grow up in a society that tends to rank people on a fairly limited understanding of value.

My life in recent years hasn’t been so… tidy, let’s say. I’ve moved home countless times since I was nineteen, did therapy until living in London meant I couldn’t afford it anymore, and made and lost friends. Throughout that journey, procrastination has been a frequent companion.

But despite the weight of unmet expectations and the pressure of constant change, I realised something recently: I’m happier now than I’ve been for a while.

This is a view from one of my runs in Leipzig. I never got used to being able to access nature like this while living in a city.

Moving to London from Leipzig was a fantastic decision, even if I do miss Little Paris every so often. The move has brought me closer to my brother and nephew, given me access to endless activities, and allowed me to pursue a career direction that, after years of experimentation, I finally believe I’ll be excited to get out of bed for. Public affairs and campaigning, if you’re wondering. And if you’re hiring.

A big part of this contentment has come from the café. It isn’t my passion, but it has given me more than I expected. Mostly, it’s given me people.

I was lucky enough to work alongside someone called Lorenzo. He competes in international latte art competitions (no, I didn’t know that was a thing either) and his mentor is a world champion. And I got to learn from him!

He’s relatively new to specialty coffee, but his ambition and focus have elevated him to the top echelons of an increasingly competitive field. What stuck with me the most, though, was when he took the time to study how I poured a long black — one of the simplest drinks on the menu — because he noticed the attention I gave to creating a decent crema.

When I first worked in hospitality, I had the goal of making a group of guests say to each other while leaving, “Wasn’t that waiter lovely?”

This is a man who can pour freaking unicorns and he’s paying close attention to how I pour an espresso shot over some hot water? Amazing.

Shout out to @thefreakbarista on Instagram

We didn’t work together long, but somewhere along the way, Lorenzo’s perspective on learning shifted my own. Instead of viewing learning as exposing my shortcomings, I have begun to see it as what it is: an opportunity to grow. I noticed myself wanting to improve how I deliver on the small details; not from a place of anxiety, but one of pride and care.

Then there are the customers. I get to have hundreds of tiny encounters with people passing through — or even just passing by — the café. London has a reputation for being unfriendly, but I think people often have more time for each other than we assume, if only we make the first move.

I’ve found real joy in making people smile during those fleeting moments. When I first worked in hospitality, I had the goal of making a group of guests say to each other while leaving, “Wasn’t that waiter lovely?” Now, I get to hand someone a lovingly constructed coffee at 7am as they drag themselves to the office, make a stranger laugh on a grey morning, and give away leftover pastries before closing.

Every day, I get to be the person that 18-year-old me wanted to be just once.

I have arguably become the world's leading expert in the highly-competitive field of making swans in espresso-sized hot chocolates

What surprised me most is what this taught me about myself. For a long time, I’ve felt insecure about the difficulty I often have forming deep, lasting relationships. Working in the café helped me see something else: that I have a real ability to create something meaningful in brief moments with people and — most importantly — that’s just different, not worse. When adult life is so busy, those little interactions can be what sustains us through overwhelming times.

I still hope to make a big, positive impact on the world one day. I believe I have it in me. But perhaps it’s unfair to push all of that meaning into the future. Contributing to hundreds of different smiles in a week, however briefly, is purposeful and valuable, regardless of whether the way it’s achieved comes with statistics, titles, or prestige.

I was standing next to this lady and asked to stroke her adorable puppy. That led to a 10-minute chat en route to work; yet another example of the joys of growing the confidence to speak with strangers

This path I have taken in life has at times felt like a failure, but in truth, it’s been more of a detour. A scenic route, you could say. One that’s given me both more experiences and more opportunities to learn what actually matters to me, rather than rushing straight to where I once thought I needed to be.

I’m still a long way from where I want to end up. I still feel insecure at times, and my life isn’t without its challenges. But I appreciate where I am now. Not by ignoring the hard parts and pretending everything is all hunky dory, but by choosing to see the good anyway.

And that is absolutely how I want to be.