Under Grumpa's Hat

Coffee is the only addiction where, instead of an intervention, people buy you mugs with slogans. “But first, coffee.” “Coffee is my love language.” “I like big cups and I cannot lie.” Imagine replacing the word coffee with gin and seeing how fast your friends stop laughing and start Googling rehab centres.

We do not drink coffee anymore. We rely on it. Coffee is the emotional support animal of modern adulthood, except it does not shed and it actively judges you if you skip a day. Without coffee, Monday mornings would not just feel apocalyptic. They would be a full reboot of human evolution, featuring grunting, poor posture, and absolutely no eye contact.

Coffee is the reason jobs exist. Without it, offices would be quiet, dark places filled with adults staring at screens like confused pigeons. Meetings would last twelve hours because nobody could form sentences longer than “uh.” Productivity would collapse. HR would cry. CEOs would start encouraging naps and hugs, which would somehow be even worse.

Marriage owes coffee a thank you card. Without coffee, mornings would be a minefield of misunderstood sighs and unnecessary divorce-level conversations like, “Why did you breathe like that?” Coffee turns “I hate everyone” into “I can tolerate you until at least 10:30.” That is love. Or something very close to it.

Now let’s talk about Costa Rica, where coffee is not just consumed but respected. Costa Rican coffee does not scream at you. It does not kick the door down shouting, “WAKE UP, YOU LAZY ANIMAL.” It gently taps you on the shoulder and says, “Buenos días. We will get through this together.” One sip and suddenly your shoulders drop, your thoughts align, and you stop mentally firing everyone you work with.

Costa Rica understands something the rest of us have forgotten. Coffee is meant to be enjoyed, not weaponized. Here, people sit. They talk. They sip. Nobody is chugging coffee like it is an emergency IV drip before sprinting into traffic with a laptop. The coffee is smooth, balanced, and confident. Much like the people who drink it. Coincidence? I think not.

Back home, coffee is panic management. We drink it in lineups, in cars, while walking, while apologizing for drinking it too fast. We drink it because we are tired, stressed, bored, or pretending we like our coworkers. We order it in sizes that suggest emotional instability. If your coffee needs two hands and a warning label, it is no longer a beverage. It is a cry for help.

We say things like, “I can’t function without coffee,” and nobody questions it. That sentence should trigger a wellness check. Imagine saying, “I can’t function without tequila,” at 7 a.m. and expecting sympathy. Coffee has somehow avoided all social consequences while being the most openly abused substance on the planet.

And yet, coffee is honest. It never promises to fix your life. It just sharpens your ability to tolerate it. Coffee does not solve problems. It gives you the illusion that you can solve them, which is often enough to get through the day. That email still sucks. You just care slightly less.

The real addiction is not caffeine. It is urgency. It is the belief that everything is critical, immediate, and worthy of stress. Coffee just shows up to help us sprint through lives that were never meant to be run at full speed. Costa Rica quietly suggests another option. Slow down. Sit. Taste the coffee. The world will still be there in ten minutes.

So maybe the lesson is not to drink less coffee. Let’s not be ridiculous. That would cause riots. Maybe the lesson is to drink it better. With intention. With humour. With a moment to breathe before the madness starts yelling your name.

Now if you will excuse me, I need another cup. Not because I am addicted. Because I am committed.