To Those of Us Who Can't Let Go of 'Someday'

Mornings are always a race against time.

The regret that I should have gone to bed a little earlier last night.

That feeling disappears somewhere far away the moment I hit the snooze button on my alarm for the second time.

In the bathroom mirror, I see myself struggling with bedhead that is far from my ideal.

The phrase 'mindful living' dissolves into the humid air of a living room scattered with children's toys, nowhere to be found.

Deep in the kitchen cupboard, there is a bag of slightly expensive coffee beans I splurged on last weekend, thinking, 'This time for sure.'

From that sealed bag, a faint, rich, and somewhat urban, intellectual aroma leaks out.

In truth, I want to grind them and pour hot water over them slowly.

I want to quietly watch the dampened grounds puff up.

But.

My hand reached for the jar of instant coffee I always use, sitting right at the front.

I open the lid, drop the powder into a mug, and pour water from the electric kettle.

What spreads there is not the rich aroma I had longed for.

It is a scent that is entirely realistic, familiar, and everyday.

The 'Admission Fee' for Ideal and Reality

Why do we keep wanting 'mindful tools' even when we know we won't use them?

The heavy mill lined up neatly in the kitchen. The stylish linen apron I've never used even once. And the coffee beans on the shelf, staring right at me.

In the world of psychology, there seems to be a term called identity buying.

It is said that we are not buying functionality, but desperately collecting signs of 'a version of myself who masters those tools.'

But I feel that dismissing it simply as 'vanity' or 'waste' is not quite enough.

That moment when you choose those beans at the shop and pay at the register.

For just an instant, we are truly holding a ticket to a 'world of our aspirations'.

In a sense, it is like an admission fee for our future selves.

'If I buy this, maybe tomorrow morning I can be a little different from who I am now.'

We are paying a price for that faint, yet certain, premonition.

A 'book of tickets' to keep from giving up

Of course, many of us cannot use that ticket right away.

Reality always ruthlessly tramples over the scripts we have prepared.

When we get home from work, we don't even have the energy to use the vacuum cleaner, and if we wake up in the middle of the night, we find ourselves worrying about tomorrow's menu.

In the midst of such gritty days, the coffee beans on the shelf are quietly kept on 'hold'.

However, there is something strange about it.

Just by having those beans there, we are able to 'avoid giving up on ourselves completely'.

While sipping instant coffee, I make eye contact with the beans on the shelf.

'It wasn't possible this morning. But maybe tomorrow morning, or perhaps on my next day off.'

Just being able to think that makes me feel as if a small 'window' has opened in my gray daily life.

Perhaps those beans aren't waiting for the moment they are brewed.

They are gently tethering the very possibility of 'someday' within this busy room.

To be honest, if I were to grind those beans today, I might no longer be able to hold onto the elegant misconception that I am a 'person who lives a mindful life'.

The true nature of clumsy attachment

If you think about it rationally, buying beans you don't drink is a mistake.

If I had given them to someone before they deteriorated, or if I hadn't bought them in the first place, my wallet would surely be a little better off.

But I can't help but feel that it is precisely this 'irrational desire' that makes us human.

A self that falls short of its ideals.

And yet, a stubborn self that keeps 'reserving' those ideals.

At the end of the week, I suddenly remember.

The solid weight that remained in my palm when I grabbed that bag of beans.

I might not have the time to grind the beans tonight either.

But tomorrow, those beans will be there again, watching over my noisy morning.

Just that makes me feel like my daily life is becoming something more than just a routine.

We who keep losing to our ideals, yet still crave new tickets.

That attachment, a bit awkward to put into words, yet so straightforward, is somehow very mysterious.

▼ For those who want to gaze a little longer at the 'mysterious'

The psychology of collecting signs of an 'ideal self' might be similar to the 'magic' of the moment of purchase.

An attachment to 'reserving' an invisible future with something tangible. Perhaps the true nature of the exhilaration we feel under the cherry blossoms is the same as these beans.