Coffee, wallet, bags.
Wiggle waggle.
Oh. What is this?
I sit down to inspect closer.
The table is not balanced and keeps moving rhythmically with me as I push it with my hands. For a brief second, I consider changing tables, but the coffee shop is buzzing.
People working. People chatting. People reading.
There are at least twenty different stories under this same roof with me.
I wonder what everyone’s story is.
Back to reality.
A moment ago, I was walking toward this particular table because one, it was open. Two, it’s in the corner and it felt like a moment of peace. And three, I had my hands full of bags and my mouth was holding my wallet.
I don’t know how I got myself into this situation, but I was trying to make it before I break it. The wallet in my mouth was not part of the plan. Neither were the three tote bags. But here we are. Full circus mode.
The air smells like freshly ground beans, the kind of aroma that sticks to your clothes if you sit in the booths for too long.
There’s something oddly calming about cafés and their sounds.
The milk frothing. The grinder rumbling. Names being called out into the chaos. Laughter layered over typing.
The cold condensation from my iced cup starts trailing down my fingers, and I swipe it away on my jeans like a local
My table has an attitude.
Or, as I like to call it, personality.
As long as I don’t slam my fists down while I’m having a nice little coffee break (the odds are slim, but never zero… sometimes I get excited, and also, I’m clumsy), I should be fine.
I put my hand down, as if I was there to greet the table.
There, there.
I have no clue what I’m doing, but it felt appropriate.
As I sat next to the window at my wiggly table, I looked at people passing by the café and wondered, where are they going?
What did their morning look like?
What kind of day are they hoping to have?
I take a sip of my iced latte. The sweetness of the maple hits my taste buds and makes me smile.
Mmm’ MMM, I say in my head.
There’s something oddly grounding about watching the world go by when your own table won’t sit still.
As I sat there sipping and letting my life wobble along with the table, I couldn’t help but smile.
Because isn’t that just how it is?
You try to find a quiet corner. You juggle more than you meant to.
You sit down, finally, and even the table doesn’t feel steady.
But somehow, somehow, you still find a moment of peace in the middle of it.
Not because everything is perfect.
But because you paused.
And maybe that’s what balance actually is.
Not perfect stillness, but the decision to keep sipping through the shake.
To stay grounded in an unsteady world.
Lately, I’ve felt like that too.
A little uneven.
Trying to hold a lot in two hands, hoping I don’t drop the plot.
My brain feels like the table. A little off center. Held together by one napkin and sheer delusion. But surprisingly functional.
There’s always something being carried. Always something asking to be steadied.
And yet, here we are. Sitting with it. Letting the world wobble while we keep sipping.
Maybe balance isn’t the point.
Maybe peace doesn’t come from perfect footing.
Sometimes, it sneaks in through the smallest moments, the ones that make no sense but still feel good.
The magic isn’t always in the fixing. It’s in the noticing. The laughing. The sipping anyway.
Maybe this is what steadiness looks like right now.
Messy. Maple sweet. A little wobbly.
But here.
Still soft. Still trying. Still sipping.
And somehow, that’s enough.
Until I forget my table wobbles and lean on it too hard, launching my latte into space.