Where Others have Gone Before
I got an early start one morning on our trip in Iceland. My family was resting at the apartment we rented, and I threw on a jacket for the chilly, rainy autumnal Reykjavik morning. I walked uphill towards the famous, towering Hamgrimskirkja church, then north to Reykjavik Rosters for some coffee. We chose an apartment in Old Town Reykjavik, which made it very easy to walk to bakeries, cafes, and restaurants. Reykjavik Rosters became a part of my morning routine on this trip. As I approached my destination, the rain intensified, and I even started to feel the rain transition to snow. These elements in the environment inspired my anticipation for a cup of coffee.
I walked through the old wooden door and entered one of the most cozy cafes in the entire world. Old couches, chairs, vinyl record players, blankets, and throw pillows added a warm analogue tone to the room. Like most of the indoor spaces we visited, it was very warm inside, and I was already spying out a chair by a window to enjoy a brew. The barista was a tall gentleman, bald with a beard; he had an ashen complexion and dark circles under his eyes, and he wore a tie-dyed T-shirt. By this description alone, one would know that he would probably brew an amazing cup of coffee. That's just how they look.
He asked me what I'd like, and I said, I would love a pour-over coffee. This request elicited a small smile, but it quickly vanished.
A very emo barista. The best kind.
My decision to order a pour-over goes against the grain of those of us who want a grab-and-go experience. Icelandic coffee culture involves staying at the cafe for a while and not grabbing a coffee to go on the run. He then asked a follow-up question about what kind of coffee I like. I said I enjoy African beans, and he offered me the option of Kenyan or Ethiopian beans. I replied with a request for Ethiopian; again, the microsmile returned, this time accompanied by a slight nod of approval. My coffee-roasting friend then worked for the next 7 minutes to produce excellent coffee. He placed a small cup, along with a serving kettle, on an antique serving tray and brought it over to me. Without smiling, he said, "Enjoy," handed me the tray, then returned to serve the next customer. I love people like this. He was the Mr. Spock of Coffee. I walked over to the chair with a knitted quilt on it, sat down, and began sipping the wonderfully crafted Spock Coffee. I could have made the Vulcan salute, but it wouldn't have brought any joy to his life. Baristas like this spark joy in my heart. A memorable cup of coffee thousands of miles away from home, friends, colleagues, and extended family members on a beautiful Island in the North Atlantic.
My best thoughts rise to the surface in the morning, even better ones arrive when I’m on the road.
I took a moment to think about all that was different in Iceland since the first time I visited with my family ten years ago. The number one change is that Iceland is a lot busier with visitors. Looking out the window, I could see that, even though it was early morning, the streets were filled with visitors from all over the world. They weren't hard to pick out. They looked a lot like me, looking up from map apps on their phones and looking around, trying to uncover new experiences. While I remember the streets being active, I don't remember them being this busy.
When we first visited, we could drive the Golden Circle and, as a rule, wouldn't share the road with other travelers. We could drive long stretches before seeing another car. Now the roads were shared with other visitors, often 4-5 vehicles within eyesight. The tourism industry had doubled since we last visited, with approximately 2 million visitors a year. What once was one of the best-kept secrets of travelers is now widely known. People from all over the world now flock to the Icelandic fjords to experience this soul-spa of a country. Since our last stay, thousands more have been captivated by a visit to the black-sand beaches of Dyrhólaey, have found renewal in the Blue Lagoon, or have had an audience with Kirkjufell mountain. One of the reasons I've enjoyed this latest trip so much is that Iceland has a way of attracting a particular kind of traveler. Adventurous, generous, curious, foodies, photographers, and have a degree of cold tolerance. Traveling is a great way of bringing you into the company of others who are just like you. There was a time when I enjoyed telling people I had been to Iceland, and it made me stand out as someone who seeks out unique destinations. I am now enjoying trading stories with those who have also landed on that incredible island.
You may feel like an ugly duckling at home, but you transform into a swan in a foreign airport, train station, or bistro. There are so many more out walking a similar path with you.
There are times in life when we think we're unique, brave pioneers, but after some sober-minded reflection, we realize our journeys are rarely exceptional. Over time, others have joined us on this lonely highway of discovering new paths in the journey of life and faith. When it comes to faith and organized religion, many of us started finding new ways of living a life of faith outside the normal boundaries of orthodoxy, and we believed we were unique explorers and discoverers of the unknown. The adjective explorer is valid, but we didn't discover anything new. We stumbled onto desire paths —the kind you can see in parks where humans have made their own paths outside the design created by those who engineered the park. In most cases, those paths make more sense to take.
The truths I'm learning are not isolated treasures unearthed by my own wisdom.
I don’t struggle with this now, but I might have when I was younger. Why? Because exclusivity feels special. There are times when it’s easy to overvalue your own journey when the truth is, so many people are learning the same things you are in their own time and on their own path. That's ok.
I don’t like the term deconstruction. I don’t believe it adequately describes what’s going on in someone’s life when they decide to walk away from ideas that are no longer helpful. But I understand what the term means. It’s a process I’ve gone through, and I’m happier for it. I sometimes encounter those who are at the beginning stages of that journey. I’m happy that they’ve made it and are beginning to experience the joys I’ve experienced.
So, what are you supposed to do with this post?
Do this, take time to appreciate that the paths that once were lonely have more foot traffic.
Thanks for reading friend. Wherever you are today, keep moving forward.
P.S. Here’s a small photogallery from this last trip
