The routine of morning coffee is nearly universal. For me, it was a habit that I long took for granted. But when I moved from the city to the country, my life ¬– all my former routines – became disrupted. Now, I find myself developing a whole new set of habits, around which only the 7:30 a.m. procuring of coffee remains the same.

I leave my house before work, and with hundreds of other commuters, I drive down narrow lanes and circle roundabouts. I take in every bit of fresh air before I embark on my train trip into the city. Every so often, it is a spectacular, sunny morning, and the green of the trees and grass is utterly vibrant. The sun peeks through the leaves and dances on the road ahead, as I get closer to the station.
By the time I arrive, the car park is usually half full. I hurry to Track 1, surrounded by determined commuters. At the track, a small coffee kiosk – my coffee kiosk – awaits, and I am always amazed at how the staff cooks, heats, brews, cools, blends, and prepares food and drink in such a tiny box. A barista, squashed inside with two other employees, takes as many orders as thrown at him. They have somehow designed their morning routine and space to work.

From the long line, it is obvious my routine is anything but unique. But, I wonder, how many of my fellow coffee cravers are loyal customers or largely design their morning around these few moments. I notice the staff seems to recognize most of the clientele. Like other regulars to the coffee kiosk, I barely need to say a word before the barista has begun preparing my latte with precision and speed, ever mindful of the train schedule. On most mornings, everything is perfectly timed. I board the train, find a seat, and take sip after sip, as I contemplate the day’s events to come.