Like a Virgin

They say you never forget your first time, which is not strictly true in every case, but still does a decent job of emphasizing the power of novelty. Still, in my case, I don't remember. I don't recall my fist tamp, steam, or pour. It's all one homogenous blur, evenly textured like the microfoam itself.

So, failing that, it's nice to experience novelty from the other side. I'm still doing a fair bit of training, and I'm still loving it. Mostly, because of that novelty. You get to see, first hand, the feeling of holyshitthisissocoolandI'mtotallydoingit develop, and then take hold. You see the seeds of the addiction that's so wholly ensnared you take root. And what's more, you're sowing those seeds. This is their triumph, mostly, but yours too, because you're making it happen.

Since it is new to them, it can't help but feel a little new to you as well. It reintroduces a sense of novelty in to your routine - in my case, about 5 years old. And it's great. Always. It simply refuses to get old, because their fresh enthusiasm becomes yours.

And that's that. You'd think there would be something about frustration with slow learners, or jealousy directed at those who pick it up a little too quickly. Maybe something about introducing what might be future competition, further saturating an already crowded barista market. Maybe something about how, with only one exception, all of these trainees are post-grad, like me, and oh no!, shouldn't they be getting a real job, what about our economy?

But no, there is none of that. Novelty, being what it is, leaves little room for cynicism, and so I have none. What I have instead, and refreshed repeatedly, is a sense of enthusiasm. Making a coffee drink is really pretty cool, and being good at it is especially so. So thanks, fellow doomed Millennials. Thanks for forever renewing my sense that doing cool shit - satisfying, fulfilling shit - is right on.