I quit my six-a-day coffee habit. Then my life began to fall apart
Last New Year’s Eve, I decided to quit coffee. I only did this because my family dared me to. These are not killing pleasure; They said my consumption was excessive and “bad for my health.” The word addiction has been discussed. I thought that was a bit much, maybe there was a cup or two that I didn’t need, but overall I was in control. I can stop at any time.
“You are going to send the wholesale coffee bean market into free fall,” my son Andy said. Another son, Sam, said my eyes glazed over when I picked up a cup, but he was confident going cold turkey would be a good move. “What will get you fired up now?” my wife Alice asked. “This is your conversation starter.”
They all agreed that I couldn’t stop. I’ll show them, I thought.
My family may have caught me at a weak moment; Champagne is drunk once a year. Perhaps I am overly proud and confident in my mental abilities. May They contributed. The next morning, I think, I was the same cheerful man to my sons and wife, but privately my brain and I had a few conversations. “… are you really going to give up coffee?” something like. We kept it to ourselves while watching my family enjoy large coffees for breakfast. I thought this was very bad.
Before deciding, I drank as much coffee as I could. My day would start with a strong espresso to get the engine going, followed by a strong latte with breakfast. I would drink an espresso in the middle of the morning; then another for lunch and a latte for dinner. If I were asked if I wanted a cup while I was out with friends or family, I would immediately accept the kind offer. I was drinking five or six cups a day; sometimes more, sometimes less.
Experts often give advice no more than about five cups a dayBut I’m not convinced I’m suffering from the negative effects of all that coffee. I’ve always been a poor sleeper anyway. Some say too much coffee can get you a little excited, but I’ve always been a happy-go-lucky guy. My sons often say that there is never a moment when I won’t do something quickly: walking up the stairs to check the shingles on the roof, cleaning the garage, walking quickly around the block four times, reading the newspaper quickly, etc. I’m just using my time well. The conversation with the neighbors was so fast-paced, my mind was buzzing, what’s next?
I love coffee. Its smell is intoxicating, almost better than its taste. That first sip. It gives your mouth a pleasant taste and leaves you with that feeling of “all is well with the world” no matter how long it lasts.
The first week was difficult. Drinking anything was a habit I told my family about, but my body had more to say about it. As the days went by, the headaches started and got worse. And they continued. A day without coffee felt like more than 24 hours. I was taking more paracetamol than usual, I became quite short-sighted and even grumpy at times. Moi? Andy said I whined about everything.
I started voicing my opinions on everything: politics, grocery prices, the driving habits of others, the parking habits of those backing into the parking lot. A neighbor’s whistling was driving me crazy. I might have suddenly said that Tim Winton and Richard Flanagan couldn’t write and that AI wasn’t that bad. The house needed repairs that I didn’t have the time or car for.
On January 20 Alice and I went for a walk along the local lane. I was hoping that I could ignore the cafes full of people chatting happily with a boiling latte or a magic in hand. I wanted my life back, to be a part of this coffee culture. Sam and Andy had told me that morning that living at home had become a nightmare and that they wanted their lives back. But I had pride.
We passed two cafes, but the third one that impressed me was Kat. A friend invited me to his table by the street to discuss the latest cricket news. I couldn’t hear a word he said. A nice smell was wafting from the takeaway window and I may have started drooling. The Sirens had won. I approached the counter and the girl seemed to understand me very well and greeted me with “What can I get you?” he greeted. in a compassionate way. I thought you saw all this in the days after New Year’s. Trembling souls wanting to be free of their demons.
With my voice shaking, I said the wonderful sentence I had been waiting for 20 days and 20 nights.
“Can I have a double shot latte, please? It’s large, three-quarters full.”
The outcome was better than any perceived failure to honor my commitment. Happiness.
I had failed in my resolve, but I realized that if I wanted to see 70, I had to start listening to health advice. I have since reduced it to three espressos a day and the family seems satisfied. Maybe my experience was the breakthrough I needed.
There is no solution for me anymore. If you have, I wish you the best. Don’t even think about giving up coffee.
Warren Duncan is a writer from Melbourne.
The opinion newsletter is a weekly package of opinions that will challenge, defend and inform your own. Sign up here.
