If We Were Having Coffee – Part Three

As usual, it has taken me a while to sit down and catch you up with my life.  Last time we talked I was still working in New York City. Now that I’m home in Nashville and settled into my little life, I should fill you in.

If we were having coffee

I would take you to a part of Nashville that I don’t travel to very often, Franklin. We would go to The Factory and visit Honest Coffee Roasters. I would take you here for a couple of reasons, The Factory is a cool place to walk around with all its independent shops, but the main reason would be because sweet baby Raymond is a barista here.

So, in this cute little coffee shop, as my 6’ 4” son was busy making lattes, you’d tell me you couldn’t believe how much he’s grown. I would take a minute to gush, and even though I’m not sure I’m a fan of his hipster beard, I’d tell you how I’m so proud of the man he has become. I’d tell you all about the trip that he and his wife are getting ready to take.  Maybe you have read about it in one of my past blog posts, maybe you’ve seen their blog Boundless Blue Blog, but the gist of their trip is, they are taking eight months and traveling the country and living out of their car.  I’d tell you I’m the appropriate amount of proud, nervous, and happy for them.

If we were having coffee

I’d tell you I haven’t worked since the end of June and I’m not sure what I’m doing job wise for the future.  I would tell you to distract myself from all that; I joined Orange Theory Fitness, where I’m sure it’s written somewhere in their mission statement to take people to the brink of death while transforming their bodies.  It has been a challenge for me because of my asthma, and we are reminded of our conversations when I first started running.  I used to tell you how I couldn’t breathe and you would always tell me I was just running too fast. It turns out, I just can’t breathe, but I keep plodding on, hoping each workout ends with different results.  Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t.

You would ask me why I had almond milk in my coffee because you’d know right away that wasn’t “normal.”  I’d tell you how I switched over to a plant-based diet and I have never felt better.  You would just look at me sideways and take a sip of your full milk latte.

If we were having coffee

I’d tell you about my sweet Ali and how she’s finally landed her dream job as a High School English teacher and the Assistant soccer coach and we would both laugh remembering when she first started soccer with the Y when she was just 4.  I would tell you how proud of her and all that she has become, that silly little blonde kid running in the pack of kids that is Y soccer. I believe you’d tell me that you knew I’d always be a good mom, even when I doubted it the most.

If we were having coffee

I’d apologize for, as always, monopolizing the conversation and I’d ask you about your kids. We’d talk about what it is like to have adult children and how as a parent it is both amazing and sad to see.  How you still wish they would come into your room because they had a nightmare and climbed in your bed, snuggle up close, and fall sound asleep because they felt safe with you and you would protect them. How it’s hard to watch them live a life where you are no longer the primary source of anything for them, but that it is everything you hoped for them when they were little.

I’d ask you about your job and if it fulfills you. I’d be slightly jealous of your 9 to 5 normality, but only slightly and I’d get over it by the time I swallowed the last of my cucumber, tomato basil iced coffee (yes that’s a thing here).

If we were having coffee

I’d look down at my watch in amazement that we spent two hours sitting, talking, and it is as it is always when we have coffee; time passes in a flash. After a big hug, we would realize, as we always do, that even though we don’t talk often, we are always tucked in the back of each other’s minds. We would get in our cars and realize that is how it is with old friends and we would drive away with smiles on our faces.

Until next time, friend.