Something from nothing

I am beginning to worry about myself. I seem to have lost track of any real direction. Growing up I lived in an area that was literally all back roads, the only reason one used the main road was to get to another back road which held their destination. I knew all the roads, I may not have even been able to drive them until my 18th year, but I damn sure knew them; likewise, I knew every short cut through the woods between the roads (just in case you needed to run from the police). Every time I left my house, there was a reason, and a direction. I knew where I needed to be, I knew how to get there, and I knew a means of getting there. Life was simple on the curvy roads that were seldom well paved, if paved at all. Now though, living in a city built on a grid, structured precisely to be easily navigated, I am forced quite frequently to wander aimlessly, simply because I don't know know where I am going. This lack or general direction, I believe is a direct result of a lack of any general interest. And for that, I fear for myself, mostly I fear for the things I'm good at. 

I've believed, for most of my life, in not doing things I wasn't good at. It really just doesn't make any sense to me. Growing up I tried playing basketball, and well, I wasn't very good. It wasn't that I just didn't practice, I just wasn't very good, and wasn't getting any better. I stopped playing basketball. I never played drinking games with my friends, I've always been pretty good at drinking, just never very good at the games that go along with them. During my short time in college I was presented with these games quite often, beer pong, and the like, but by this time I was smart enough not play. I knew I wasn't very good. I knew that because of this, I would lose, and consequently get drunker than I had intended, putting myself at risk of doing something stupid, or possibly even something I was less good at than beer pong. This seemed like very rational thinking to me, and it still does to this day. One should always try things, try things as many times as it takes to realize if one is good at it or not. That is when the decision should be made it the activity should be continued, or just move on to something else. 

Today my mother, visiting from home, brought me a pound of coffee from the coffee shop that I used to work in. During my time there, I learned how to make espresso. I put it off for a very longtime, for fear that I would not be good at it, but eventually, I gave it a shot. Well hot damn, I was actually pretty good at it. This was mostly due to wonderful young lady who showed me how, she too was very good at it. Espresso is not exactly a skill, it is more like a craft. Practice doesn't make perfect. Timing, pressure, grind, tamp, weather, all these things combined make perfect. One has to know how these things work together to make perfect. I figured all this out. I took it on as a craft, the art of making good espresso, and most importantly knowing when I had made bad espresso, and how to fix it. 

But now, long since passed my time with coffee professionals, I am surrounded by things destined to make me fail. I still have all the knowledge of this craft, the espresso craft, but I don't have the tools. At work now, a shitty hotel, in a shitty neighborhood, in a shitty city, I have shitty coffee making instruments (only one of those is true). Rather than a tamp, I have a wedge of plastic, custom fit to no particular portafilter at all. Rather than accurate coarseness for the grounds, I have exactly the same grind as the day before. Instead of demitasse, I've got paper cups. None of these things come together to make good espresso. But, alas, I have adapted. I now know, using shitty everything, how to make good espresso. In fact, Tiam, the only person I make espresso for other than myself, will only drink mine, because he says I am the only one who knows. And that is a true statement. Hooray for me. Or is it? Is it on par with evolving? Survival of the fittest, taking what I have and molding myself to it? Who is to say if I would now be able to go back, use a naked portafilter, a perfectly weighted tamp, with an excellent espresso machine, and still know how to make good espresso. Isn't it more likely that I, the college drop out, the graveyard shift bellman, commitment fearing, responsibly lazy slacker, took all that I know on a shortcut through the woods and accidentally turned it all to shit?