Sip by Sip
By Liz Michalski | January 26, 2024 |
I drink a lot of tea. Too much, some might say. (Side note: Those people are not my friends.) The tea habit started in college as a daily cup, and over the years morphed into a full pot consumed over several hours as I write or do chores. Tea has become the background noise to my daily life.
This was fine when the tea was a grocery store box of generic pulverized dust. But as I’ve gotten both older and better paid, my tastes have changed and morphed and changed again, finally settling lo these many years later on dragon pearl jasmine as my beverage of choice. It’s a lovely, sophisticated brew, each scoop scented with multiple pounds of jasmine blossoms, then hand rolled into tiny balls. With a price to match, natch. It’s meant to be slowly savored, sip by sip.
Instead, I’ve been mindlessly guzzling it by the gallon.
And then, for Christmas, my husband gave me a fancy kettle. Not the squat, functional one I’ve had for years that can boil a gallon of water with the flick of a finger and pour it just as fast. No, this new kettle is a work of art, with a heat control that matches water temperature to the type of tea I’m making, a hold button to keep the temperature of the water constant, and a long, thin, elegantly sculpted spout … that pours at a glacial pace. And since the new kettle is half the size of the old one, it doesn’t pour much, either.
The first time I used it, I literally accidentally dumped a third of the scalding water out in my quest to make it pour faster. The second morning wasn’t much better – ok, it was worse, because I was both impatient AND caffeine deprived without my normal large pot of tea. By the third morning I was brainstorming ways to return it without hurting my husband’s feelings.
But then on the fourth day, as I was heading to the kitchen I passed my grandma’s china. Old and fragile, requiring hand-washing, I rarely use it. But on a whim I grabbed one of her tiny rose patterned cups and a matching saucer and took it with me.
Waiting for the water to boil that morning felt different, as if my grandmother was keeping me company. Instead of eyeing the kettle angrily and trying to make it work faster using the heat of my glare, I looked around. I saw the way the sunlight caressed the edges of the china cup, turning it translucent. The way an almost invisible pattern of flowers was pressed into the roll of paper towels next to the sink, a roll I’d purchased but never really looked at. I inhaled the intoxicating, delicate scent of jasmine rising from the teapot waiting to be filled.
How had I not seen these details for so many mornings? They’d been there all along. The only thing that had changed was me. Forced to slow down, the invisible had become visible to me.
As writers, we spend so much time in our heads, creating imaginary worlds and populating them with imaginary people, that sometimes we can miss the world we are a part of. Walking, we can be so immersed in telling ourselves the story we’re trying to write that we miss what the clouds are writing in the sky over our head. Driving, we hammer out plot holes and fail to see the scenery arcing past our windows. And it’s not just writing that carries us away. Worry and impatience for things to ‘begin’ (or for tea to boil) keep us from living – and noticing – what is happening now. The world becomes background noise to what is in our head.
But I’d argue that being aware of the details of life as we live them is important for us both as people, which of course is what matters the most, but also as writers. It’s these details, captured, that help us immerse readers in our stories, that bind them to us with that best magic – truth in our fiction. To capture the whispering sound of snow on the wind, the sharp green scent of pine needles crushed underfoot, the heavy, warm weight of a sleeping toddler in our arms, to trap them on the page and make them come alive, it helps if we have captured them in our memories first. And that can only happen if we allow ourselves to be aware of them as they happen.
So my challenge today to you, my dear friends, is to take a moment to settle into this complex world we live in, to slow down and look at it with open eyes, as if for the first time. What are you seeing or hearing or tasting or touching that on another day you might not have noticed? Please share your discoveries here.
I’ll be waiting with my cup of tea to read them.
Liz Michalski’s (she/her) second novel, Darling Girl, was published in 2022 by Dutton. Her first novel, Evenfall, was published by Berkley Books (Penguin). Liz has been a reporter, an editor, and a freelance writer. In her previous life, she wrangled with ill-tempered horses and oversized show dogs. These days she’s downsized to one husband, two children and a medium-sized mutt.
Wonderful uplifting post! I’m going to use one of my mom’s teacups this morning. ☕️
Thank you for the inspiration.
Thank you, Michelle! I hope using your mom’s teacup brings you joy!
Thanks for this reminder. Tomorrow I’m going to blow glass for the first time–a dream for many years- and now “required research” because of my WIP. I hope to turn on every sense during the experience!
That sounds like an amazing experience, Carol! I’ve interviewed glass artists before and it is a fascinating process. Enjoy!
Well, I guess we’re even, my friend. You’re not really a sports fan and I almost never drink tea unless I’m sick, and it suffers by association. But I still love this essay. As I get older, certain moments that have staying power in my head for years somehow gain meaning, even when they seem trivial at the time. I realize how special those moments are and that they require a certain amount of “dwell time” to imprint and last. I have a growing appreciation for willingly surrendering that time. It’s worth it.
Thanks for my daily moment of beauty. Also, go Lions (sorry).
I love your essay, I get it, it’s all about beautiful moments to be savoured. And no, I don’t do it with tea but with coffee, one Italian espresso at a time, up to 6 a day! I have an espresso coffee machine and it’s fast, it delivers a cup in a matter of seconds. But the time gained is then lost in contemplation. Like you do, watching a sun ray settle on a beloved knick knack sitting forgetten on the dark mahogany dining room table until it’s suddenly lit up. Or watching the dogs play with a rope, each pulling it as hard as they can until one gives up and the other runs around the living room, shaking the rope in a triumphant gallop.
Yes, little things that don’t matter but they are so relaxing, and remind you that you’re human after all, not just a writer! And you’re right, it’s a great way to decompress and get started again for the next round of writing…
That is A LOT of espresso, Claude – they would have to peel my off the ceiling! I love your descriptions and I can imagine my own pup doing exactly the same as yours. Happy writing!
Beautiful, Liz. Thank you for the reminder that the moment is where the gold (or the fragrance of Jasmine) is. I saw myself in your description, unraveling plot holes instead of paying attention to the road or the stairs or the dog lying in my path. But it’s the richness of the moment that can enrich our writing. Sensory detail is seductive. My practice these last couple of years has been to catch myself before going too far down the rabbit hole of busy mind. It’s ongoing and challenging but the dividends are magical.
I feel you Susan – it’s so hard NOT to go down that rabbit hole, but so worth trying to stay in the present. Definitely a work in progress for me, too!
Hello Liz. Tea and sympathy and encouragement for us to pay attention to the world we’ve been given–thank you. As an unapologetic addict who starts the day by saying “thank you” to his Mister Coffee, I would add just one thing to your amusing, thoughtful post. When it comes to paying attention, and actually noticing mahogany tables and dogs playing with rope, fiction writers have a special advantage. What we write demands detail, especially new, specific detail as opposed to the ho-hum variety . If we want the reader to sit up and take notice, a fresh take is fundamental, not incidental. So, added to how paying attention enhances life itself, the writer has another, self-interested reason to be alert. She is a carpenter, and if she wants her house to be unique instead of tract housing, she will follow your advice.
What a wonderful post, Liz. It reminds me of a time when my daughter Hanna was six or seven. She was belly down on the backyard patio stones for almost twenty minutes, staring at a bullfrog. They sat nose to nose, watching each other with intensity and intrigue, and my mother, who had stopped by to visit, was impatient enough to insist I pull Hanna from her investigative stance. I refused. My mother didn’t understand why my daughter needed to watch a frog with such vigor. I got it. Hanna wasn’t just watching a frog. She was learning. She was soaking up every detail like a sponge. She was entranced by wonder.
Today, Hanna is a thriving university student who has never stopped watching the world with intensity. Although she cried when the trees on our property cracked and split from an ice storm, and was laughed at when she lay on the sidewalk to feel how the pouring rain hit the ground, that kid has taught me a bundle. Just like your post notes, there are gems hidden in life’s details. We just have to stop and look.
Hugs,
Dee
Your daughter sounds adorable and smart and charming and wonderful, Dee. And I agree – I learn so much from hanging out with my kids. It truly does open up a new window to the world. (And I love the image of your daughter nose-to-nose with the bullfrog so much!)
Excellent post, Liz. I have a quote propped against my pencil sharpener on my desk: “What if you woke up tomorrow with only what you were grateful for today?” A question to ask ourselves as writers as well as humans on this planet: What if you could write tomorrow only what you took time to appreciate today?
That’s such an inspiring quote, Christine. I recently started a gratitude journal and it does make a difference in how I see things already.
Perfect timing, I just bought a new tea service set. Now I need to invest in good teas. Your jasmine pearl sounds like a great starting point. I’m investing in more ‘me experience’ 2024. Doing more for me besides just working and worrying.
I am wishing you a wonderful year full of good personal experiences, Yasmine. And I hope you try and love the tea!
Beautiful post, Liz, and a much-needed reminder to savor time just as much as tea (or, in my case, coffee).
Hey, LK! So nice to ‘see’ you here, and thanks for reading!
Beautiful Liz…in my life I’ve been used to rapidly but more and more I see reason in the slow down. I have also become a tea drinker. Now I’m eager to add my tea to some of the delicate cups I’ve inherited. Life moves too fast. There is beauty and creativity in the slow down.
What a wonderful illustration of this important truth. “It’s the little things that get you” is what a friend of mine told me once, a couple months after the loss of her baby daughter. She said she had slowly been able to carry on with her daily routine, but that out of the blue the sight of a her daughter’s toy or the smell of her shampoo would send her crashing.
Oh so true! Isn’t life a collection of sensory perceptions? Yet when we exist on auto-pilot, we miss it. A week-long holiday seems like ages because we pay attention. A year of robot routine seems to evaporate. As writers we need to build an experience for our readers, one that will linger.
I love this, Liz! And I couldn’t agree more. I’m on an ongoing quest to pay more attention to the world around me. A few years ago I started walking and running without music or anything else in my ears but the sounds around me. Birds, the ocean, the wind rustling the palms. When I move through a familiar neighborhood or space, I try to look for things I haven’t noticed before, or what’s changed. Sometimes I even do dishes or fold laundry and try to lean into the boredom, the calm of it. It’s nice to stop “inputting” for a few minutes. I also love to watch clouds, but I need to do it more often. Thanks for the reminder. Enjoy your tea!
By an odd coincidence, just yesterday I–another tea addict and superfan of jasmine tea–started thinking about supplementing my mug collection with some flowered teacups and saucers. As with your experience, I hoped doing so would help me slow down and savor the moment.
They would also remind me of my mother who, when her bed-ridden mother came to live with us, purchased seven teacups & saucers, each with a different flower, to help entertain the invalid. It’s a precious memory to set against what was often a contentious relationship.
Thank you for the memory and for the inspiration!