Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger
I spent a week in New Haven, Connecticut last summer with my father and brother. Most mornings, I’d go for a run and end up at a Dunkin’ where I’d order a large iced coffee with milk and sweetener.
On about the fourth morning, I was standing in line at Dunkin’ when the barista behind the counter caught my eye, smiled at me, and asked if I wanted my regular order. I said that would be great. Then, I grabbed my coffee, paid, and walked back to my father’s condo
My ego had received quite a boost. Here I was, a stranger, and had made a lasting impression. Then it dawned on me. This particular Dunkin’ was in a diverse neighborhood, where I happened to be in the minority. Not only that. Everyone waiting for coffee was on their way to work. In comes this sweaty middle-aged white dude with headphones, still catching his breath from a run. Sure, I made an impression. But I was far from impressive.
I thought of the Dunkin’ incident a couple of weeks back when I visited our local Caribou. My wife Wendy and I are regular customers; we like to say we only get coffee on days that end in “y,” and we regularly chat with a small group of baristas who work the morning shift. I told them what Wendy and I would be heading out of town for our daughter Sasha’s spring break so they wouldn’t be concerned if they didn’t see me for a few days. The baristas who happened to be working thanked me and wished us safe travels.
When I arrived home early last week, as schedule and timing would have it, I didn’t visit our local Caribou right away. I almost felt a little guilty and wondered if my barista friends noticed my absence. Finally, toward the end of the week, I drove to our Caribou and went inside to place my order.
My barista friends were there but they didn’t seem particularly surprised to see me. They were as friendly as always and we engaged in our regular banter. But it was like no time had passed since my last visit.
At first, I was a little disappointed. Then I realized I was one of hundreds of regular customers who lived in our neighborhood and likely shopped at the grocery store adjoining the Caribou. To quote one of my favorite movies, Goodfellas, I was an average nobody, a schnook. Or, as our kids would say, an NPC.
It’s funny. We can spend so much time considering how we present ourselves to the world and ideally, put our best selves forward. All well and good and I will absolutely continue doing so.
But every so often it’s helpful to have reminders that making an impression isn’t the same as being impressive. So, we can move forward mindful of doing right by ourselves. And not focused so much on how everyone else views us.
Image credit: Marcus Spiske
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