Autumn is in full swing in central Florida. The weather is fresh and crisp, like the aroma of a delicate green tea. The humidity has dropped, and there is even an occasional tree dotting the landscape that has remembered how to be deciduous. Fall is my favorite time of year. I don't entirely know why, but it does give me an excuse to wear scarves and drink lots of tea.
I know what you're thinking- Nicholas, you live in Florida, so there isn't an excuse to wear scarves. Also, you've got me on that part about the tea, too. We both know that I drink the same amount year-round. I like to pretend that it's justified, especially because it's not quite eleven o'clock and I have my second round on the way.
Playfulness aside, the fall never fails to remind me of everything in my life coming full circle. This is the time of year that is traditionally associated with the harvesting of crops, and I can't shake that feeling in my own life, either. So many things fall away year after year when the season finally shifts from the seemingly endless summer into the cooler, darker part of the calendar. It's as if life just permits the old bits to slough off just like skin cells; the new and the fresh is always awaiting just beneath the surface.
This morning I finally got my long-anticipated package of new teas. I must admit that I shouldn't really add to the collection without downsizing first, but I could pass up a good deal when I found one. I was eager to dive right into brewing, but I know that tea really deserves more mindfulness than that. When I experience a new tea for the first time, I honestly endeavor to cultivate the "tea mind," a state of present-moment awareness that opens the consciousness to learning more from a cup of tea than you'd expect. So, instead of just jumping in, I took a moment to meditate, cleared some space mentally and physically for meeting this Mao Jian, and took the time to appreciate each aspect of the process.
I've had a lot of green teas before. I've tried a few Mao Jian teas in the past, and they never really left me excited. This particular one fascinated me because I even have the date it was harvested. Can you imagine knowing the moment when the tree made its sacrifice to delicate leaf and bud pairs to be lovingly handcrafted? How about knowing when human hands gently rolled those leaves into the characteristic pointed shape of this tea? It's incredible to be that connected to the foods and beverages we consume. It reminded me of all the sacrifices with which this year has come. Just as Camellia sinensis must lose a few leaves to yield a beautiful tea, I've had to let go and watch the process of change happen around and within me.
This tea is fun to watch brew. The thin, long leaves are bound into a rolled shape that twists open as it steeps. The downy covering of the tender buds disperses into the pot, which results in a tea of nominally higher viscosity. Bubbles tend to stay on the surface of the liqueur for longer than less downy teas. Because of that and the dance of the unraveling leaves I like to leave the lid off my teapot, just like this:
This newly harvested tea is one of many things that have recently transformed in my life. One of the big turning-points of being a grown-up has been getting my own phone plan. I know that might seem silly, but it is oddly true. I did a little homework, looked at fun gadgets, and ultimately just acted a little spontaneously. Steeping tea has taught me that sometimes you have to improvise. Some leaves don't behave just as you expect them to; they have hidden surprises, and you have to adjust your time or temperature accordingly. In light of that advice, I had to adjust my life. I have honestly had the same cell phone for half a decade. Now I have a smart phone. I feel like a kid with a new toy. It's going to take a while to get used to not having a veritable brick of a cell phone, and the whole qwerty keyboard thing is nifty.
The great thing about all of it is that I didn't freak out about the extra expense or the idea of having to do it all on my own. I usually hate the feeling of having to big, scary, responsible things without someone to hold my hand through the process. I confess that I had a friend with me, but it was more about getting input on colors, options, and having someone to crack jokes with during the boring bits than anything else. It wasn't as scary or stressful as I expected. All I had to do was be in the present moment and let myself receive the new harvest that life has to offer.
Many times, life is a little more stressful than we would really like. I always like to drink a nice cup of tea when things get hectic. It forces me to take time for me, time for clearing my mind, and time to appreciate something beautiful. That sense of appreciation opens the heart and ushers our vision beyond what our eyes can see. My life is completely different this fall than it was over the summer. I've felt as though some precious things have been plucked, withered, and rolled into a bunch of dead weight. Instead of focusing on the loss, I've really made the concerted effort to think of it as a fresh start. What happens when you take all that dead weight and just let it wash away? Well, supposing the metaphorical water is the right temperature, you will get a delicious pot of tea.
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