Strong

I poured my morning cuppa today and looked down and realized this old boy was looking a little worse for wear.

And this is the best one of the lot.

Ceramic floors are really unforgiving. Nothing makes me long for the architecture (and hardwood floors) of my native New England than one more shattered coffee mug–or plate or cup–all over the floor. Coffee mugs are frequent casualties because I the whole reason I need them is because I’m uncoordinated and half-awake in the morning. It’s a recipe for disaster.

I gave up a while ago having nice mugs. “Want to bring us a housewarming gift?” I told our last houseguests, “Bring us some Salvation Army coffee mugs. You know, those ones that are 75¢ each. Don’t spend more than $1.00 on them, you’ll be wasting your money.”

This here is the lone survivor of that last set of four.

So maybe it’s got some dings and cracks, but it’s still standing.

I feel a lot like this here coffee cup these days.

I was venting to a friend this week and she said, “You’re so strong!” What is strong? I wondered. I don’t feel strong. I feel tired. That deep in your bones, could sleep for three days and still not be rested kind of tired.

But I mulled it over for a while, and that’s what strong looks like, isn’t it? Strong’s not what we see in the Marvel movies. Real life isn’t bulletproof and throwing cars one-handed. Strong in real life is climbing a mountain, and if you’ve ever done that you know it feels hella ugly in the middle. You can’t see the view, there’s nothing but huge boulders in front of you, and your knees are shaking. Strong is putting one more foot forward until you get to the top. Strong is marathon runners, who focus on moving, just moving, until they cross the finish line. Ever talk to a marathoner? It hurts like hell, one told me, their legs are on fire, and yet they keep going. The rush comes, he told me, once you push past that wall of pain. I told him he was nuts. He agreed.

There’s the old Black-pride one-liner: “I like my women like my coffee—strong and dark with a touch of sweet.”

Maybe my life these days is like my coffee cups. Strong, slightly cracked, but still holding it together. Some days half-empty of strong sweetness, some days half-full.