I’m not a coffee expert, but I drink it every day until 11 a.m. to avoid the sleepless nights of drinking it too late. My coffee must be strong—like jet fuel. I take it either black or as a cappuccino with almond milk on my days off. Getting coffee was one of the few reasons I ventured out of the house during the pandemic. My dog even learned the route to the coffee shop around the corner, eager for treats from the baristas. But the real reason I drink so much coffee isn’t the beverage itself—it’s the people who serve it.

Holding Up the Line for Connection

Blame me for holding up the line. I suspect I’m not the only one who bonds with the baristas. Over time, we’ve had deep conversations about feeling stuck, the pandemic’s toll on people, and the struggles of adapting to new realities. We’ve shared stories about homeschooling, small living spaces, and the challenges of working from home. These moments of connection became a lifeline when isolation weighed heavily on everyone.

One morning, a barista asked, “Have you read All About Love by bell hooks?” The next day, a copy of the book was waiting for me at the counter. I don’t know the barista’s last name, but I know their kindness and deep love for music. Lending me that book was an incredible gesture of trust. It came when I needed it most, and it helped me navigate a moment of despair during the pandemic.

The Lessons of Love

bell hooks’ All About Love challenges the idea that love is merely a feeling or attitude. Instead, it posits that respect is the foundation of love, without which it cannot survive challenges like a pandemic or the chaos of homeschooling. That book—and the act of receiving it—led me to reflect deeply on how I love and who I love. It has become one of my guiding texts.

When bell hooks passed away in December, the barista and I shared another moment, grieving her loss and celebrating her wisdom. Yes, I held up the coffee line again.

Music, Carbs, and Breakdancers

Another day, weighed down by the emotional struggles of friends and family, I went to the barista’s window, craving carbs, sugar, and conversation. I mentioned a 1990s hip-hop track I’d just heard—Armand Van Helden’s “You Don’t Know Me.” The loud music had jolted me awake before my caffeine fix, offering a brief reprieve from the pandemic’s fog.

The barista’s response? “Listen to some Pharcyde.” Another 90s music recommendation, pulling me out of my funk. But as I settled into the music, breakdancing beats from nearby overpowered my earbuds. A young crew had gathered, blending modern moves with old-school techniques, bringing joy and energy to the street.

Their rhythm, precision, and expressive joy felt contagious. One of them joked, “Yo, you gotta know your next move, bro!” This struck me as more than dance advice—it felt like a life lesson.

A Cup of More Than Coffee

In these moments, I realized my local barista offers more than a great cup of coffee. Conversations, book recommendations, and shared humanity have helped me find perspective, even in the hardest times.

So, if you’re willing to hold up the line, you might find your barista is serving up more than just a flat white.

Marcia Young lives in Toronto.