Whenever I need a reminder about how things can change, I give myself a coffee break. 

After that first lukewarm, bitter taste from the bottom of my grandma’s cup, I swore that I would never drink it. Both corners of my mouth pointed down as I tried to brush the remaining grounds from my lips. “No, no, no!” I said with zero hesitation. 

That certainty gave way a little when I had my first dunk. I snuck my chocolate chip cookie into my mother’s cup while she was making a point with her sister-in-law. Both the crumbs in her brew and the smile on my face gave it away. It was delicious. A purest, and not a dunker like my aunts around my grandma’s table, my mother urged me to get my own cup. It wasn’t immediate, but dunking led to sips and sips to drinking, and then amid the warnings of stunting my growth, (just as they had warned my lanky mother), I began to love a cup of coffee. 

Not all bitterness can be brewed to beautiful, but I have to believe there is always a chance. Each morning cup tastes like opportunity, possibility. I smile, and give this day a chance.