The greatest consolation of the big city dweller is the dream of one day escaping completely from those gray plaza ceilings, Excel sheets, and meaningless meetings they endure for 60 hours a week. The script is always written with the same perfection: Away from the hustle and bustle of the big city, taking refuge among those fragrant olive trees, renting a small, cozy house, and even opening our own little coffee shop. That illusion of a “peaceful life” radiating fresh filter coffee scents with a happy cat on your lap...
Reality, unfortunately, is a bit different from what we see on Pinterest.
The shop opens, summer visitors arrive, followed by pleasant chats and compliments... You think you can lean against the wooden table, read your book, and fill your soul with peace in the meantime.
Then autumn comes, and those visitors return to their cities. You are left alone with the locals of the town. The tradesman looks you up and down; the neighborhood folks come out of curiosity, asking what on earth you’re doing alone in that shop. “Who are you going to sell to, are you going to go broke?” they say. “We never drink coffee. What even is this filter thing?” And ultimately, “We’ve got fresh tea, come on over,” they say. That “gourmet coffee” dream is replaced by a pot of tea brewing right in front of the shop.
If you think, “Well then, I’ll just live in the town and work remotely for a big corporation while running my coffee shop on the side,” that can bring a whole different tragedy of its own. Just as you are about to upload your most critical presentation, the village transformer blows up, and the power goes out. Your phone’s 4G drops to “E”. It just happens, one thing after another, and nobody else seems to care. You can’t tell a customer, “Sorry, the village goats chewed the internet cable.” In the summer heat, your laptop catches fire in your lap, shutting down with the roaring engine sound of a jet plane. While dreaming of working with a view of the sea, your nervous breakdown sessions begin.
And the story often ends with that bitter, sorrowful listing: “For Sale / Rent by Transfer.”
But perhaps the real issue isn’t whether the shop fails or succeeds; it lies in that courage, that patience, and knowing what we truly want. When we set out to live our dreams, are the new burdens and crises brought by what happens to us along the way really heavier than the psychological collapse and stress we silently endure at that plaza desk every day? Maybe we’ll open the shop and make it; maybe we won’t, and we’ll do other things. What matters is being able to risk that change, and showing the courage to tolerate the unfamiliar hardships we might face along the way.
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