Coke. A Temperance Drink.

Journal, I am confused. I sit here at my alter in bewilderment. Maybe you can help me understand something. In 1886, the world had its first sip of Coca-Cola. When we discovered sliced bread in 1928, it was proclaimed to be the best thing since Coca-Cola. I associate the drink with my grandparents. My maternal grandfather gave me my first can of the stuff when I was around 8 years old. (Mom didn’t allow me to have caffeine.) For a long time, I could only get the stuff from him. He ran the speakeasy of my childhood. I still think of him whenever I pop a can open. After a while, I wore down my parents. It was accepted that I had indeed popped the Cherry Coke (heh) and they couldn’t protect me from caffeine anymore. I’d join my paternal grandparents when they’d get their habitual Coca-Cola in the Summer.

By the end of my childhood, I had a head full of memories. Quite a few of the pleasant ones were associated with the taste of Americana that is Coca-Cola.

I have a lot of memories tied to things, to stuff, possessions. Kimmy and I have a vision of where we want our life to go but having a lot of physical possessions just doesn’t make sense. My problem is that I have so much stuff from my past. Things that remind me of the good times. Sometimes I feel like they are all that I have left of the good times. I’ve weeded out the important items that came from the death of my parents’ marriage and the death of my father. Though I have panned for the gold of my past and most of the dirt is out of the pan, I still have a lot of material to go through. I have the rubble left behind from a 45-year-old man’s entire life. I have the remains of a 17-year marriage. And it intertwines with my life. So Journal, What do I do? Do I honor it? Preserve it? After all, it is partly my life too. Am I losing a part of myself if I let go of this stuff? What happens if I want it back after I dump it in the sea?

I’m drifting away from my chair in this coffeeshop, Journal. My mind is home. Not my home, but my mind’s home—the home I built for it. You know, the one in my book? The home where my mind finds solace. Through the custom pivot entry door. Walking up the staircase of glass and metal, I find my library and lay back on my lounge chair. Holding a Coca-Cola in my hand I examine the glass bottle. I either have or will have everything I want in life… so why am I so discontented? Why is it that I can’t let go of tokens of my past? What is my problem? When I rub my thumb across the ridges on the bottle, I remember. Last week, Kimmy and I went to a sandwich shop. The restaurant had a state of the art ‘Coke Freestyle’ machine. I got excited. Hundreds of flavors to choose from. Seemingly endless possibilities. Grandpa would have loved this thing. After some debate, I walked away with half vanilla, half orange Coke. As Kimmy and I enjoyed our sandwiches, I watched the people in line at the Coke Machine. Children, never knowing a world without touch screens, naturally tapped away to their desired selection. Adults, having to quickly adapt to the new portal to Coke. One person in particular caught my attention. A woman in her 80s, who had a childhood with Coca-Cola solely contained in glass bottles. I watched her evaluate the machine. Partly marveling, partly angered that she just couldn’t open a bottle and start drinking. I wondered what it must be like to be in her shoes. To see the evolution of something as commonplace as a soda. She was delighted to try a strawberry Coca-Cola. She made quite a deal about how amazing this fountain was. I heard her mention “This fountain is just magic! I wish we had this when I was a kid.” She was giddy about the new way to experience Coke.

Later that day I saw a group of teens in the mall. One of them held a Coke in a glass bottle. I saw the situation and was very perplexed.

Journal, It doesn’t make sense! On one hand, there is a woman, experiencing something new. It makes her disappointed with a part of her life. On the other hand, we have a youth, who has all of the technology in the world at his disposal. He has a hundred flavors of Coke on tap, yet he chooses to drink from a bottle. Why? Why are we not happy with where we are? Why can’t I toss all the closet-consuming artifacts from my past?

Well I have a theory. The world is spinning =. Fast. Like really fast, Journal. The world never stops spinning. Society never stops developing. We never stop progressing. When we are young, we haven’t lived a life. There are no seatbelts. There is no way to accurately predict what is ahead on the road, or what will throw us off the ride. What youths do have are the history books. Giant lists of what has worked in the past, verifiable systems that have been tested to be functional and safe. Early in life, this intimidating world progresses at such an alarming rate, that it feels more secure to cling to proven methods. To be a purist, eliminate the noise of progress and live a life, embarking on a boat, that after many voyages and enduring many storms, is still seaworthy. Later on in life, It seems that most people have had their sea-legs for a good while. The storms become commonplace. Life at sea is normal. People want something new.

I need to keep sailing. All boats can float. I think what I need to comprehend is all boats, if taken care of, will sail. I have picked my boat. I’ve embarked on this voyage; I am at the helm. We will navigate this ocean of life, storms and all. The thing that I can never forget is that whether the seas are rough or not, being at the helm is something to never take for granted. Coca-Cola is a drink that we will all experience differently. Whether people drink it or not, if it is consumed out of bottles or cans, one fact is indisputable— more flavors are coming.