The Wonder of Simply Being

The rumbling buzz of conversations flows, blending with the musical motif of Ludovico Einaudi’s The Summer Portraits in my ear, as I sip my chai tea latte (hot, not cold). I came to this little revamped old town coffee shop to sit and to be. I recently went on leave due to persistent disturbances aggravating my PTSD and complex bereavement issues, so staying awhile amid the company of strangers and unfamiliar faces is simultaneously daunting and comforting. Weird, I know. But, nearing the edge of sixty, here is where I find myself. Go figure.

My iPods rest in my ear, Einaudi caresses the piano keys, while my eyes scan the gathered faces engrossed in community conversation. My fingers type on the keyboard attached to my iPad. Occasionally, I glance up in time to catch someone’s smile. I think some folks probably wonder why I am sitting here alone, by myself, in a space brimming with people. I don’t doubt that my solitude seems as strange to them as their longing for community might to me. Therein lies the secret. They don’t get that I’m not alone.

I sip from my mug.

The clinking of cups, the hissing of the espresso machine, the sudden bursts of laughter weave into the ambient score of the moment. The walls, adorned with mismatched array of artwork, mirror the eclectic mix of patrons: a young couple sharing whispers over steaming mugs, a gray-haired man scribbling notes into a worn journal as he listens intently to his friend, a group of Gen-Zs animatedly recounting their latest weekend adventures. Every face contains a story, a minute history of the world etched into their expressions, dance-like gestures, and fleeting glances.

There is comfort in this tapestry of lives intersecting ever-so briefly inside this community sanctuary. Each thread is vibrant yet remains distinct. In recent weeks, I’ve discovered an intimacy in anonymity, a quiet solidarity in simply existing alongside others without expectation. Simply being. Alec, the quirky barista calls out names with practiced ease, his voice a metronome marking the beats of time. I sip my latte, feeling its warmth as it seeps into me. I am grounded.

Reflection sneaks in between sips and keystrokes. I think about the paradox of connection—how we crave it, fear it, resist it, and seek it all at once. My solitude is not loneliness; it’s room to breathe and to heal. It’s space to observe without the pressure of participation. Within this self-imposed boundary, I feel tethered to the lives around me, even if only by the shared air and overlapping sounds. The people surrounding me remind me I am alive.

The afternoon light shifts, casting longer shadows across the wooden floors. In that moment, I realize that as mundane and unremarkable as my temporary refuge may be, it is a small victory. I showed up. I stayed. I observed. And in doing so, I found a fragile, albeit fleeting peace.

I’ve won, if only for today.

---

Thanks for reading, my friend. Until my next post…

Be salty, stay lit.

Rainer Bantau —The Devotional Guy™

#bgbg2#BibleGateway

The Stigma Stops Here.🛑

#mentalhealthmatters