How a Coffee Shop Became My Refuge

When the simple act of being seen feels like home.

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For all its faults, Starbucks is still a cozy place.

The warmth of the space, the music in my ears (when it’s not turned up way too loud), and the smell of coffee and baked goods make it inviting. The staff are usually friendly, and some create that Cheers-like vibe where regulars are welcomed by name and a smile.

There’s plenty to criticize about Starbucks— or big corporate food and beverage chains in general. A lot of those critiques are valid, though some feel over the top. Still, these places fill gaps in our day-to-day lives. They offer things we’ve lost— spaces for connection, like those that disappeared along with local landmarks or as economies shifted. Cozy spots like these, or the chance to build community, are part of what they provide.

I think of the Tim Hortons just down the street, barely out of sight from where I’m sitting now. Before it was renovated, groups of older men used to gather on its steps to chat, play endless games of chess, and support each other in whatever ways they needed. While that sense of community probably existed with or without Tim Hortons, the café gave them a common ground— a public space where they could show up, be seen, and be acknowledged. Watching those chess-playing men as I walked or drove by reminded me that community still exists— even if it’s on the decline 1.

Steve MacDouell has written a lot about this kind of thing, usually focusing on locally owned coffee shops in his work with Strong Towns. But what Steve points out about the value of those spaces applies to places like Starbucks too. In some communities, Starbucks is the only option for a third place.

Of course, food and beverage spots acting as “third places” isn’t just about coffee shops. The Taco Bell Drawing Club is one example. And while it’s fictional, Cheers captured the essence of local bars that, for decades, anchored neighbourhoods across North America. These ideas aren’t new— they’re as old as time. Think of sipping coffee at a Parisian café or enjoying an afternoon drink at an Italian soda shop. These third places are what sociologist Ray Oldenburg called “great good places”.

It’s been a while since I’ve felt connected to any one place.

That’s a strange thing to admit, considering how much of my life I’ve spent trying to root myself in place (for example) or studying its importance (like this).

For the past five to ten years, though, I’ve felt increasingly disconnected from place. Owning a home has kept me anchored but away from the local sphere. Living just far enough from the city’s core means I’m not part of its daily energy. Getting older, along with former collaborators, has shifted priorities— family stability is now a necessity, not an option. And, let’s be honest, my energy isn’t what it used to be.

Still, even with all that, this Starbucks— of all places— has become a kind of refuge. It’s familiar. It feels like community. It’s a great good place.

As the seasons change— from summer to fall to winter— so do my morning drinks. I drink less coffee in the colder months, switching to big cups of tea. Tea brings a steady warmth that coffee can’t match.

One morning, I walked up to the counter, and the barista started ringing up my usual (grande decaf pour-over, black) without asking. I corrected them: “Actually, I’ll have a grande chai tea— just one bag.” They smiled, gave me a look of mock confusion, and said, “Oh, so now you’re changing your regular order after months of consistency?”

I’m not special— plenty of people order the same thing every day. My coffee order might stand out, but I don’t. And yet, being recognized by someone outside my usual circle, remembered for something small but personal, felt surprisingly meaningful. It was cozy.

A low-budget, holiday treat to start the day.

Stroopwafel

See yesterday's post for reference.

Having spent a total of 6 hours in the past 36 hours shoveling snow, it feels good to come home after a long day of work and not need to spend more time outside digging our home out of the first big snowfall.

We live in Canada, and in a snow belt, so this dumping of snow shouldn't be a surprise. However, with climate change and global warming winter scenes lie we're currently having are fewer and far between as the years past.

Where Olive Trees Weep (2024) 🎬 →

Where Olive Trees Weep (2024) is an important but deeply troubling film. It shines a light on the ongoing conflict between Israel and Palestine, digging into the core issues at the heart of this international crisis.

I’ve never fully understood the details of this conflict—especially how things escalated to where they are today—so watching this documentary was eye-opening, to say the least. It frames the situation as a violent colonization effort, carried out by a nation representing a people who themselves endured one of the most horrific atrocities in history, the Holocaust. This perspective is not something we often hear in mainstream media, and it really made me pause and reflect.

I’m not about to claim expertise in this—or any—international conflict. But it’s clear that systematically oppressing an entire population and trying to erase them from both their land and existence is indefensible. Whether it’s under the guise of security, the rights of another group, or historical injustices, there’s no justification for the level of ongoing violence and hate directed at Palestinians.

But back to the documentary...

One thing that didn’t quite land for me was the inclusion of Gabor Maté. Don’t get me wrong—his work on trauma is powerful, and his perspective is valuable. But in this film, it felt like an afterthought. He’s featured here and there, but his involvement isn’t given much weight. The segment at the end, where he works with women who survived unimaginable violence, felt rushed and oddly placed. It seemed like the filmmakers tried to cram in his contributions without giving them the depth or context they deserved.

That said, Where Olive Trees Weep is still an incredibly moving and important film. It’s one I’ll be encouraging others to watch because it opens up a conversation that we all need to have.