Rockin' Out

What's in my cup: an oolong from Wuyi Mountain, brewed gongfu style

I was completely set on having a perfect day today. Everything was lined up to make this relaxing and productive: some scheduled writing and networking time, a bit of light cleaning, a superbly relaxing bath, and, of course, time for tea. I even had some leisure time planned with a friend. Could anything be better?

My choice of tea for such an exquisite day was without a doubt an oolong. I narrowed it down to either a beautiful Taiwanese standard or a legendary tea from the cliffs of Wuyi Mountain. I gravitated toward the rarer one from Wuyi. Tea from this region is descended from plants that essentially were undomesticated. Tea trees from Wuyi mountain were nearly forgotten and essentially harvested as an artisan tea, sometimes with only a few kilograms produced each year. In the mid nineties, cuttings from the trees dating back to the Song Dynasty were used to increase the harvest with plants that are genetically identical.

These teas are obtained from trees that are generally quite old and grow in rocky terrain, resulting in the name yancha, which translates as "rock tea" or "cliff tea." Most of you reading this blog are likely to know me in real life; that being the case, you know how much I happen to like rocks. That may be what predisposes me to liking Wuyi teas so much, although I'm sure the depth of flavor and blissful aroma account for bigger reasons.

Inspiration struck, and I decided to make my tea outside today. Having a digital kettle makes brewing tea in gongfu style so much easier, as well as portable. For those of you unfamiliar, it is one of the best methods for brewing oolong and pu-erh teas, and it is deserving of its own blog post one day. I settled onto the cool concrete of the balcony of my apartment with my set up for tea, and turned the kettle on. Waiting for the water to warm, I got a chance to appreciate the tea leaves and start some light reading. The kettle roared to life as sounds of nature permeated my tea session, joined by the faint din of passing cars on the highway- lingering bass and rushing motors.

I had a moment of clarity during that first pour of water. Because I had cleared time and space in my schedule for tea, I really had the opportunity to be present. As the water washed out the brewing vessel and cup, I washed out erratic thoughts from my head; as the stream of steaming water hit the tea leaves, they were cleaned of dust just as my mind left behind the dust of my week. When the first vapors carried the aroma of the steeping leaves, I felt myself breathe in not only their scent, but also the scent of life itself. It was a truly beautiful moment, and I hadn't yet tasted the first sip of tea.

Teas like this one are intended to be enjoyed many times in a row. I once steeped it fourteen times. Today, however, I wasn't aiming to quantify or assess anything. I just wanted to practice being present. Naturally, when we really want something, the Universe is always willing to oblige.

Sometimes, though, the Universe needs to find out how much we are dedicated to manifesting what we want, and we are tested. I kept my phone beside me during this tea session. It did occasionally distract me from the act of purely being, but some distractions are welcome and bring joy. This time, though, I received some disheartening news from a friend. I instantly switched modes, trying to offer support and beginning to worry. My day was thrown off entirely: no more plans for which to prepare nor motivation or clarity enough to write. Somehow a little unforeseen event is enough to cause landslides if we permit it.

Thankfully, I remembered my tea. I kept pouring, steeping, pouring, and sipping. I focused on the feeling of the tea on my palette, the warmth as it spread to my body. It was a meditation in and of itself. This tea has traveled the world to be in my cup, and I couldn't take that for granted. Imagine how long some of these plants have been around... more than eight centuries! Who am I to let small things interrupt my growth. Ancient trees have seen the rise and fall of empires, tasted the rains of eternity, and breathed the pure air of the mountains for longer than I can truthfully imagine.

Yancha is not an easily obtained tea. For one, its rise in popularity in China has caused a recent spike in prices. On the other hand, let's think back to its origins. Cliff teas are grown on cliffs. They are faced with difficult growing conditions that forever shape their lifespans, yet they do not give up. These are trees of perseverance, and with the cold, stony floor beneath me, I was able to find my center and maintain my cool. I can't say that when I drink tea there is nothing that can shake my calm or focus, but I can honestly admit that when I am present in a tea session I see with a little more clarity.

I hope for you, my readers, that the message of the yancha is one that will be helpful. These cliff teas might be faced with poorer soil and difficult conditions, but they have an amazing vantage point. Remember that when you are faced with your own challenges. No matter what situations arise or surprises await, we have two options. Either we grow or we don't; it really is that simple.

Silver Lining in the New Year

What's in my tumbler: Yin Zhen or Silver Needle, a rare white tea from Fujian

This recent New Year's celebration was probably the quietest in my adult life. Even as a kid living with my parents there were occasions in which I had a little bit of champagne and watched the ball drop at midnight. As a student at the University level, and in the subsequent years, one of my closest friends and room mates has a January first birthday, so there was nearly always revelry to ring in the infant year. I think it is one of the few holidays without any resentment or disappointment tied to it in any way my entire life. That's a little astounding, actually.

This year I was blessed with a closing shift on December thirty-first and an opening shift on the following day. Schedules at work run a little tight sometimes because of the limited number of us on the management tea, and I've come to expect it. The mild frustration I may have felt melted away because this year I spent the night alone. My current room mate was out of town, and it afforded me the opportunity to relax and decompress. I had a wonderful chance to make a ritual out of the turning of the wheel of the year and celebrate in my own way.

I admit that it also afforded me the opportunity to spend the night as scantily clad as I wanted, but that isn't exactly relevant.

Colleagues of mine organized a global meditation series for world peace that has been happening for the past couple of years. The first day of 2011 marked the final event in a string of twenty-seven. I spent the evening preparing myself and my space for that chance to focus on only the positive things I wanted to manifest for the coming year. I spent ten minutes staring at my tea cabinet trying to discern what I wanted to drink. I knew that the first cup of the new decade would mean something to me, as it would set the tone for every other sip to follow.

I decided, seeing as it was late, that I should avoid caffeine despite my elevated tolerance to it. I also decided that I should try something less oxidized because of my recent bout of kidney stones. That really narrowed it down quite a bit, so I chose a lovely white tea. Yin Zhen, also known as silver needle, is a rare, hand-harvested white tea bud from the bai hao varietal of Camellia sinensis that was once reserved only for the imperial court of China.

Imperial reserve teas, such as this one, are under heavy scrutiny and tight control during the picking stages. Harvested in two short windows each year, the Imperial Yin Zhen cannot be picked during windy or rainy conditions, which sometimes results in a compromised harvest. Additionally, only young virgins wearing white silk gloves under heavy dietary restrictions were permitted to harvest the rare, silvery tips. Nowadays, China is a little less stringent on who can pick this tea, but the dietary code is still in effect. Those who harvest silver needle avoid spicy foods and heavy garlic in order to keep the oils in their skin from being contaminated by these pungent aromas.

This past fall has yielded one of the best harvests of silver needle that I have ever seen. It is visually stunning, and the flavor is incomparable to the past couple that I have tasted. I admit that I often overlook this mild and complex tea for something with more body, but this is perhaps the most exceptional white tea I've ever had. It is really stunning. One of the rarer teas that one can find, I decided that something rare and silvery would be a great symbol for my new year.

Nutritionally speaking, this is one of the teas with the greatest number of anti-oxidants, as well as being rich in anti-collagenase, a nutrient that inhibits the breakdown of collagen in our skin. It has long been considered to be "beauty in a cup" because it is great for complexion, hydration, and acting as a general tonic for the immune system, too. I really think that drinking in a smooth and pale gold liquor would be an ideal invitation for a healthy, abundant, and marvelous new year.

Silver needle has another name by which it is sometimes known in the west: "silver rain." Last year for me included some heavy emotional rainfall from time to time. Although I did see plenty of blue sky and some radiant sunsets, the grey seemed to linger everywhere on the horizon. This year is a different story for me. I have spent a lot of time and energy over the past couple months to really figure myself out, separating the needs from the wants. All the self-discovery has been a way to analyze what precipitated the turbulent and tempestuous changes I experienced last year, and I am grateful for each and every opportunity those moments gifted unto me.

Silver needle, when brewed produces a light and viscous infusion. The color is nearly reminiscent of sheaves of wheat in the summer's sun, and it is an overall warm and uplifting infusion. I've decided that no matter what rain falls, I will consider it a blessing. Silver needle reminds me of the silver lining to every cloud above us, despite a grisly exterior. Sipping this tea is synonymous with sipping that silver lining. Remember that as you decide what to reach for in your cabinet.

The Tai Chi of Chai Tea

What I'm drinking: I'm not actually drinking chai; it's a clonal Nepalese tea instead.

I just lied to you. I am technically drinking chai, but not in the "chai tea" sense. We'll get to that, I promise.

Many people the world over enjoy a cup of spiced tea. Masala chai, literally "spice tea" is commonly found throughout India, with street vendors known as chai wallahs shouting at the heels of passersby in order to sell their unique tea blends. Masala chai is generally a black tea laden with some combination of cardamom, coriander, cinnamon, peppercorns, and ginger,among many other spices. Traditionally, it is served with milk and sugar and is a great way to warm up on a cool day.

I admit that I'm not much of a "chai tea" kind of guy. I like my black tea straight up: no cream or sugar for me, thank you. I like to taste the leaf in its purest form. the essence of the climate and soil is imbued in every cup of tea, and the pleasure of tasting the difference in geology or elevation is something I really enjoy. However, every now and then, I like to mis things up. Trying new things keeps me from becoming bored, and any chance I get to experience something unique or culturally significant simply cannot be refused.

That's why I recently had my first cup of authentic masala chai at a local Indian restaurant. The weather was chilly, and since my food was spicy, I decided I needed a beverage that could hold its own beside the melange of flavor in my entrée.

My first cup of chai, photo courtesy of Megan Haytcher

Today's teacher isn't actually masala chai, so we'll trudge onward to the lesson in the cup. I promised to explain how I'm drinking chai, even though this cup is sans spice.

You see, "chai" is a word that merely means tea throughout much of Asia and in many European languages, too. When tea was spreading into a global phenomenon, the disparate dialects of Chinese left a great mark on what we call this delicious drink. Two main camps exist: the "cha" group and the "te" group. Two families of pronunciations influenced the tea trade in its infancy, resulting in some cultures who refer this infusion as cha, chai, tsa, sha, etc. or as tea, te, thea, thee, etc. Obviously, in English, we are in the second camp. The "tea" pronunciation derives from early contact with Hokkien dialect of Fujian, among others. When the English and dutch began exporting teas, they carried the cultural and linguistic seed for tea alongside the leaves of the shrub itself.

Many other parts of the world, including Slavic countries, Japan, Korea, Greece, and India, among many others, retained the Mandarin-inspired pronunciation.

One of the earliest lessons I learned from tea was one of redundancy. As a culture we tend to have so much stuff- information, possessions, activities. After a while it all clutters our minds and our lives. Tea by its very nature is a teacher of simplicity. With the onset of political correctness and a need for young, educated speakers to prove the worth of their diplomas, we have grown into a culture whose language lacks efficiency and brevity. It is a reflection of the excesses in other areas of our lifestyles. After a while, it all grows into a repetitious slur of words strung together or nonessential gadgets that we amass to impress one another and stave off boredom.

Tea is not the only victim of tautology. There are innumerable cases of place names, colloquialisms, and other expressions that say the same thing twice. Whether it is the cane toad, Bufo marinus, which is commonly referred to as the "bufo toad" (i.e. "toad toad") or the unfortunate attempt to overcompensate with "Mt. Fujiyama" (literally Mt. Fuji mountain), the evidence of overcomplexity is everywhere. Tea, as our teacher, beseeches us to simplify.

I guess it's just one of my pet peeves. I don't need to be referred to as "Nicholas Nicholas" any more than my drink needs to be "tea tea." Specificity is appreciated in life, but sometimes we aren't as specific as we think we are. The universe always gives us what we ask for, so the next time you consider placing your order for your next manifestation, consider a cup of chai. Do you want any old tea, or a spiced tea? Do you need any job, lover, or project, or do you need the right one?

My tea today is as simple as they come. It's rather grassy for a black tea, but it is very brisk and aromatic. I don't need to worry about what it is called in order to enjoy it, and that is one of the key lessons here. As one of my favorite books on tea, The Spirit of Tea, reminds us:

"Everything you need to know is in the cup."

So yes, I'm drinking chai. I'm also drinking thee, teh, chaj, and herbata. Let's all sit back with our favorite cups and relish the sweet and savory liquor steaming within, with or without spice. For all the innovations the world has to offer, the simplicity of a cup of tea reminds us not to be too cerebral, lest we disconnect ourselves from experiencing the moment. We might even sound silly while doing it.

Alchemy in the Cup

What's in my cup: Houjicha, a roasted green tea from Japan

There is nothing especially sophisticated about houjicha. Maybe that is what I really like about it. Every cup is comforting, gentle on the palate, and easy to brew. Unlike other Japanese green teas, this one isn't particularly finicky when it comes to temperature or time. Houjicha is also a relatively young tea- it has been around for less than a century.

In the 1920s, a tea merchant in Kyoto, Japan was left with a surplus of late-flush bancha. This is a common tea produced from the last of the pick-able leaves on the Camellia plants in the autumn and winter. Bancha is a less-refined tea than earlier harvests of sencha, but, rather than let his product spoil, the innovative tea merchant decided to try roasting it in a ceramic vessel over high heat. The application of heat, and ingenuity, to the tea leaves gave the tea drinkers of early twentieth century Kyoto a new beverage.

This particular variety of green tea is not especially vegetal or astringent. It's mellow and earthy notes harmonize for a velvety serenade, one that is perfect at day's end. The roasting eliminates nearly all of the caffeine present in the tea leaves, and so I was able to enjoy more of this low-caffeine and low-tannin beverage after my kidney concerns. I really love the feeling of warmth spreading through my body that matches the warm and smooth taste on my palate with each sip of houjicha.

The secret to this tea is in it's simplicity; it is an entirely uncomplicated tea to master. With each successive sip, I found myself thinking about how easy it is to get caught up in the ceremony and and ritual of everything. Nothing about this tea holds onto false pretense. It has humble origins and undergoes a drastic transformation by a simple process, and that is what holds the key to everything we can learn from this tea.

Bancha, the base for this beverage, is often overlooked by tea connoisseurs. It is the least favorite child in the sencha family of leaves, consumed daily because of its price and availability rather than its complex aroma or sophisticated flavor. Despite this, houjicha is widely enjoyed as a delightful cup of tea with more notoriety than just any other late-harvest green. This tea began as a surplus. It wasn't particularly in demand, and would simply have gone to waste if not for some fast-thinking merchant in Kyoto. Perhaps he was inspired by the way that the Chinese pan-fire their green teas or by Taiwanese roasted oolongs. Perhaps the kami, or spirit, of the leaves themselves gave him the idea.

However it came to pass, houjicha went from one level to another. It underwent a process of transformation from a base substance to an infusion that leans a dark amber to golden brown. This is a tea of alchemy. We have a lot to learn from these leaves. Hundreds of medieval texts on magic and alchemy obscure the details of what it really was intended to be. Most of us today believe alchemists sought only the philosopher's stone in order to produce the elixir of life, a potion believed to endow one with immortality, and to transform base metals into gold. What we have yet to learn is that the complicated rituals and laboratory instructions are seldom intended to be taken literally.

Alchemy is a process of transforming the self. We take all of our dull, leaden bits and allow them to become shiny and golden. Attaining immortality has less to do with living forever than it does realizing that part of us that is undying and eternal. Real alchemy is an internal process of spiritual awakening whereby the alchemist becomes aware of the connection of all life and the simplicity of the spiritual truth that we are all one.

Our teacher for today, houjicha, undergoes a simple process involving a mere application of heat in order to become a new tea. It transforms from practically a waste product as a surplus harvest into a tea that will be forever endeared to the hearts of tea lovers around the globe. That sounds a lot like immortality to me.

Let's learn what we can from this tea. Houjicha preaches simplicity with each sip. It's difficult to spoil a pot of it because it is remarkably easy to infuse. Perhaps by uncluttering our minds and seeking simple pleasures, we can begin the process of transformation and open ourselves to what we are truly called to do in life. By allowing ourselves to be transmuted into the spiritual analog of gold, we can also touch those around us and live on forever in their hearts and minds.

Too much of a good thing

What's in my cup: Water

I'm sure that this was bound to happen eventually, given my predisposition towards indulgence, but kidney stones are never really welcome. I was hoping to have a normal, easy going week. Instead I have grains of crystalline ouch stabbing my insides and distracting me each and every waking moment. It adds up to a lot of waking moments, seeing as the pain was initially enough to keep me from sleeping well.

I am sure many of you are incredulous, wondering how someone who consumes as many antioxidants as I do get sick... Right?

Or maybe you can see the answer.

The thing is... I might have a problem. I drink a lot of tea.

A lot.

And there happens to be a good amount of tannin in the leaves I enjoy the most. After a while it kind of adds up. If you couple that with the fact that my palate isn't too fond of the water here since I moved in August, it does not make for a good combination. I always used to drink a lot of water. Now, whenever I get thirsty, I have put myself into the habit of reaching for kettle. As busy as work has been I haven't even been keeping hydrated there, either.

Let's be honest; I have a tendency towards indulgence. I have replaced wine with tea. I have replaced sweets with tea. I replaced playing the horn with tea, so as not to upset my neighbors. I have even replaced men with tea. Well, I tried to, at any rate.

Just when I began to stress myself out about life, it was as if everything crystallized into one painful process this past Monday. My ability to filter out the destructive thoughts failed just as badly as my kidneys at handling the saturation of calcium oxalate. Eventually, it precipitated into the shards of jagged and insoluble irritants that sluggishly thorned their way through my system. I spent each moment sitting in pain until it passed. Each and every breath pulled my diaphragm downward against the offending kidney, sending rivulets of pain shooting though my side. Every step was comically agonizing. I was forced to take time to rest and laugh at the irony of the situation, even if every chuckle drove daggers into my side.

Thankfully, that necessity for restfulness was met with support from my boss and my loved ones. I hate sitting around and doing nothing all day. I always have a million and three projects going at the same time so I can flit from one to the next without boredom setting in. Monday's highlight was napping. Tuesday and Wednesday I wrote and spent a fair amount of time on the phone. All the while, I couldn't do much to satisfy my craving for tea. I drank some peppermint, and some weakly re-steeped leaves leftover from my room mate's mug, too, but it is never the same as going through the ritual of making tea for myself. Instead I did my best to feel sated on water alone.

My system cleared itself sometime yesterday. I am continuing to flood my body with a deluge of fresh water to instill the habit. The best part of it all, aside from no longer being subjected to excruciating pain worse than a monotone professor on a day when you really need a nap, is the sense of relief accompanied by a greater awareness of what is happening in the here and now. When every deep breath is linked to a spasm of pain, you really start to pay attention to things outside of yourself that are happening in the now. Learning to write through that was a great experience.

I think I have learned my lesson in moderation. My father, who has had the same problem several times over, proposed that I add a few other indulgences back to my life. A little does go a long way. The new goal is cut my tea drinking back by fifty percent. That will help me appreciate the tea that I do drink even more. I won't just be waiting for my fix anymore. I've also already promised myself that it's time to invest in a water filter. I am pretending that it's just for encouraging me to drink more water, but I'm sure you've already realized that I'm excited at how much better my tea will taste, too. The effects of this lesson arc across my entire life; I will be so much better for it. Not only will my kidneys thank me, but I will break my dependence on an outside source for happiness.

True contentment comes from within, and Camellia sinensis, as one of my spiritual teachers, would want me cultivate that on my own.

Thy cup floweth over

What's in my tumbler: Dragonwell, a famed Chinese green tea from Zhejiang

Today is Thanksgiving. It's not the first one that I have spent away from my family, but it is the first one that hasn't been bustling with lots of preparations underway. Today I am taking it easy. Although my room mate is gone, I don't have work, and I won't be leaving the house anytime soon, the stillness is no longer driving me mad. It took some time to shake off a bit of nostalgia and loneliness, but here I am- smiling and perfectly present.

I decided to take it easy today in a number of ways. One of those was tea. I know I'll have plenty of tea to counter the tendency towards overeating that goes hand-in-hand with holidays, so I'm only on pot number two for the whole day. I started with one pot of a nice gunpowder tea; I wasn't in the mood for anything fancy or in need of diligent awareness to water temperature or steeping time. Now, hours later I am sipping my favorite tea, Dragonwell green tea. Dragonwell, or long jing, always cleanses my mind and soul as it washes down my throat. It's refreshing, rich, and slightly nutty; this is a tea once reserved for royalty for good reason. Although I love it so much, we'll save it's story for another day.

I admit that this morning I was permitting myself to feel lonely and not just a little forlorn. I threw myself into my research for the day as a distraction in hopes that I would get over it. Sure enough, I found distraction. I tripped over my books strewn about the floor, kept losing my pencil, and even managed to spill my tea as I refilled my cup. I realized that I needed to stay a little more grounded and focus on incorporating a more positive outlook. So, as I sopped up the tea from the table, I thought about what today should really mean to me.

I woke up to a beautiful day. Sure, I'm spending a lot of it alone and away from my family, but does that make it any less serene? I've had some wonderful breakthroughs in my research lately, and that will impact all of my further writing and teaching on that subject. I have had numerous offers for places to go and people to see today, even if they are a little farther away than would be comfortable, so I know I'm not really alone. Most importantly, I feel like my relationship with my immediate family is at an all-time best. I really think I've begun to understand the context of past concerns much better, and it helps me relate to them so much more easily. Although I might not be geographically close to my parents this Thanksgiving, I'm closer to them on other levels than I have ever been.

A very wise friend and teacher once reminded me of becoming the empty vessel through the analogy of the teacup. The Universe has so much to provide to us, and all we have to do is offer an empty cup to receive more. While absentmindedly pouring my tea today, I saw that lesson in action. If we don't accept the things that we receive with gratitude, we waste so much. Only by joyously offering back can we restore balance. It creates an endless cycle. Gratitude generates joy which begets more gratitude... It goes on and on.

Take some time to reflect on what causes you to feel grateful and see what happens. I can guarantee that you will feel joy for every moment in life. Each breath affords us an opportunity to grow and to learn. Even the lesson of spilled tea can remind us how abundantly blessed we are.

Remember that just like this morning's cup, life is overflowing with abundance in many forms; we just need to sip from it to receive some more.

A new harvest

What's in my cup: A fresh harvest of Mao Jian green tea from this spring

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.