A Tea Break
The world looks different today than it did a week ago, and the world of two weeks feels like another existence. There are moments in life when the moment of change is so slight that it will pass you by without you even noticing until it’s hard to pin down when exactly it changed except to acknowledge that it did. Then there are the moments when the moment of change is so precise that it’s hard to imagine you’re even in the same timeline anymore. I have been feeling the latter for the past two weeks in which concern has turned to panic has turned to calm has turned to anxiety, and I am sure I am not the only one. Finding words to process the feelings of living through a pandemic which will touch the lives of everyone we know and uncertainty about the future feels like too large of a question to ponder at times.
There’s the constant ticker-tape of news stories and developments flashing across my phone and lips and texts, there’s the pile of emails filling the inbox each day with updates on how everyone is responding and which of my favorite shops are now closing, there are dry hands and lists of things to do to prepare for transitioning to a life inside the home, at least for the foreseeable future, video conferences calls to the office when the brain finds it difficult to hold onto details or focus, and then there are moments when a deep seeded exhaustion sets in. An exhaustion that is carried in the body, the mind, behind the eyes, in that sharp pain that persists behind the right shoulder. Being a person in this world right now feels like a lot. It is a lot to process, a lot to prepare for, a lot to consider and practice. Though I can’t fix any of the larger problems and am trying to do my part to ease the strain by social distancing and constantly washing my hands, I do want to take a moment to talk about something that I can do to help, and that is to recommend a tea break. A cup of tea can’t solve this situation and it might not even change all that much, but it might have the smallest ability to make you feel better, even if just for a moment.
I’ve often thought back to a passage from Henrietta Lovell’s Infused, where she talks about that feeling of being awake in the middle of the night, trying to deal with the things that keep us up with worry and how in those moments you can sometimes feel the most alone. The rest of the world keeps sleeping on without trouble except for you, who is lying there with your open eyes staring at the ceiling. In those moments when you can’t stay in bed any longer, she recommends that you get out of bed and make a cup of tea, and to imagine all of the other people who are doing the same.
When I drink a truly delicious tea in the dread of night, I am less alone. Each sips unwinds the straightjacket of my isolation. I taste the farm and think of all the men and women who grow and harvest and craft the leaf. I feel the connection with all the people around the world sipping beautiful tea, possibly alone in the night like me.
[…] At those times, sleep is no comfort. It will drag me stupidly into endless repetition of all the petty worries and embarrassments my mind can dredge. Though the anxiety saps my will and threatens to paralyze me in my twisted sheets, or in the arms that cannot comfort, I have learnt to force myself up and to the kettle. I wash my face and brush my hair. Self-pity makes me ugly. I put on something beautiful. Now is not the time for clumsy utility. You need your most beautiful things around you. Of course, you need your loveliest teacup. This is not comfort tea that comes in a mug. This is rescue in a world that has no comfort. The normal things don’t work. You need your most treasured teapot, your most cherished tea.
In the darkness, there is the glow of your lamp and the beauty of the cup in your hands and the warmth of your tea. I’m trying to picture you, wondering what tea you have chosen and what you’re wearing. You’ve draped yourself in a silk dressing gown. Your girlfriend’s underwear. Your lover’s suit jacket over your bare shoulders. A cashmere shawl. You are wrapped in a linen sheet, a soft blanket, a long evening dress you never get the chance to wear, the suit you had made for your wedding.
Alone in a terrifying world, instead of trembling in bed, feeling hopeless, you are sitting there, upright. Your hands wrapped warm around the cup, your lips hot, drinking delicious, well-loved tea.
I sometimes think of this passage when I can’t sleep at night or when I am waiting for the kettle to brew and wondering who else in the world might be doing the same. Who else is standing in their kitchen waiting for a brew with worries inside their heads which they can’t shake? What is the view outside of their window at this moment? Are there birds singing in the distance or waves crashing against the rocks? Are they alone or making a pot for two? Are there tiny voices talking in the background? Or a cat walking beneath their feet? Henrietta’s writing has stuck with me as a reminder of the beauty a simple pleasure can bring to everyday life but it is also a reminder that we are not alone on this journey, and that there are others - ones we know and ones we have yet to meet - who are traveling on the same route, just maybe a stop or two ahead or behind us.
On the best of days, I would recommend everyone take a few minutes for a tea break as a way to focus on yourself and to spend your thoughts thinking about something other than work or the glowing computer screen or the asks of others, and to use these few minutes that it takes for the kettle to boil and the tea to brew, to close your eyes and breathe. To remember that you are here in this moment. So now, in these days of new routines and uncertainty, I want to ask you to do the same, either right this moment or at some point throughout your day. Pick out your favorite tea or one that you’ve been holding onto for a special occasion. That special occasion is today and any moment that you wish to celebrate as I think you should enjoy those things today as you never know if that perfect, future moment will ever arrive. Pull down your best teapot and teacup or mug. If you have a partner or child or roommate, maybe make a cup for them as well. They might need it just as much as you do. Fill the kettle with fresh water, turn it on, and wait. Don’t reach for your phone or flip through your mental list of what you need to accomplish next. Stand there and wait. Feel what it feels to do nothing except observe your surroundings. Maybe you’ll even feel that old friend boredom motioning for you to return. And when the kettle is ready and your teapot or cup is prepped, pour the boiling water over the leaves. Watch as the leaves unfurl and open with the heat, the color of the water changing before your very eyes. A few seconds and then minutes will pass as the leaves steep and prepare for you to drink. It may be hot at first so take it slow and be careful. Burning the roof of your mouth is not something you want right now. And with the same care that you took to make this cup of tea, this warm hug held between your fingers, remember to keep that same level of awareness with you as you enjoy these first few sips and taste the product of life. In this moment you are alive and you are here and you are doing something kind for yourself.
It’s been a little over a week now since we transitioned to being home and a routine has slowly emerged. Among the multitude of feelings that I imagine we’ve all been feeling, I have found myself noticing the smaller moments that I may have been too busy to see before, like the way the cat’s whiskers glow when she’s standing in the sunny spots or how the birds sing outside the window around six o’clock in the evening. I find myself spending a fair amount of time looking out the windows. Mostly observing the way the clouds float across the sky, the feel of the breeze, and the noises of the people who are wandering the streets. The weather seems to impact my moods more than ever before. I don’t know if I’ve ever appreciated sunshine as much as I do now. There have been more pots of tea and different varieties. More thought put into which leaves I want to make as each cup feels less rushed and more of this moment. There have been more home cooked meals and time spent together, conversations to friends and family across the country and thoughts about how the world is connected in these moments. There have been more daydreams of the places I can’t physically reach but if I close my eyes and ponder, I can remember them. Among everything, I have tried to let myself feel the way I am feeling and to not place pressures on how I should be doing things in these unprecedented times.
Henrietta ends this chapter with a few simple lines that I feel are worth remembering:
Who knew a humble leaf could reach such heights of flavour? Someone thousands of years ago perfected a way of drawing this delight from a camellia bush. This came from the imagination of a human mind. It seems impossible. It seems improbable. And yet there you are, drinking the tea. Alive.
We are still alive and hopefully healthy. This time feels alienating and full of uncertainty, but we are still here and though it requires connecting in new ways and becoming very familiar with patterns of domestic life, maybe for the first time, we are still alive and breathing and are able to find moments of beauty and calm within this storm. So take a few moments to hold that warm cup between your hands and breathe in the aromas that are floating up to you. Close your eyes and take a few sips as it cools to just the right temperature. Think of all the people across the world who are doing the same in this moment, I know I will be, and maybe you’ll feel the tiniest bit less alone. This cup of tea won’t solve everything but in this moment, it might just be able to make you feel better and that’s pretty powerful too.
After I’ve finished writing, we will be sitting down to the first of many Hump Day teas, in which the hand-painted set of camel teapot, plate, creamer and sugar pot (which was rescued from a previous disaster) will be placed on a platter for a mid-week pick-me-up for having made it this far. The camel ware doesn’t get used very often but now seems like the perfect time to start a new tradition and add a little fun to the week. As future me will confirm, it was delightful and I can’t wait to do it again.
Lovell, Henrietta. Infused: Adventures in Tea. London, Faber & Faber, 2019, pp. 202 - 203.
