ii. Dollop

Y'all like coffee shops? Cool. Me too.

Mochas and scones. That's the biggest draw of coffee shops for me. I like ordering a medium mocha and a chocolate-chip scone under the pretense of sharing it with Delma, then gulping down both before she's even had a chance to pull out her laptop. Mochas and scones. For ME.

Marriage is a compromise. So are coffee shops.

Chicago has many coffee shops and I have visited a good number of them. Consequently, I have had many mochas and scones (consequently, fat). The coffee shop I'm at now, Dollop Coffee and Tea, has an especially delicious chocolate-chip scone. A toasty, golden exterior. Chocolate chunks as big as my thumbs. Granulated sugar sprinkled on top. Mmm. I might have another.

Located on Clarendon in Buena Park, Dollop is only two blocks from our old apartment. Consequently, we went to Dollop often. It's a nice enough place, though there's nothing particularly significant about Dollop itself. No major life decision was made there, no traumatic event.

Each of these last five paragraphs feel like different introductions. That's because this is a somewhat forced entry in a series of posts I'm writing about my time in Chicago. Like trying to stick a square peg in a toaster, I'm trying to write about the emotional significance of Dollop and why this place resonates with me. In truth, it's tough because that's not exactly... true. If this is about coffee shops that I like, I could write about any of the other places Delma and I would hit up on the reg. Bourgeois Pig. Noble Tree. Intelligentsia. Worm Hole, Gaslight, Bowtruss (look at all these hip coffee shops I just name dropped, you guys!).

My buddy Pete and I were having a beer the other night at Hüttenbar (SO hip!), talking about this and that and these and those. We had just come from an essay reading that was mad entertaining. In fact, only one of the five pieces fell flat. After reflecting on the essay and the reader's performance, I decided that the reason I didn't like it is because I didn't get an answer to the why. Why was I sitting there listening to it? Why was it written? Why this, why that, these, those? Etc.

What's the point?

I know, I know, this is jumping all over the place. Also, that last question wasn't a why. Just roll with it while I play some mental Frogger.

Consequently, I started asking myself why.

Why am I writing all this? Why am I focusing on Dollop? Why are you reading this? (Probably because you looooove me. Or you just want to laugh at me. That's probably the reason. I'm ok with that. I'm fine. It's fine. It's, like, whatever, you know?)

I'm writing these Chicago-centric posts because I feel a need to show my respect and admiration towards this city. Chicago has been wonderful to me, despite the hardships I've encountered here (unemployment, invasive surgery, subzero temps, that one time I biked fifteen miles to the suburbs and got a flat tire and it was thirty degrees and also it started to rain and it really sucked). It's been difficult, but also character building (that bullshit phrase people use when you're going through a tough time). Now I feel like I've become something at least resembling an adult. Taxes and 401Ks and shit.

Which, actually, is the answer to that second question too.

I am writing about Dollop because a) I'm at Dollop right now and I tend to arbitrarily assign significance to the insignificant/coincidental (e.g. four of the five books I am currently reading have mentioned the word "solipsism") and b) the time during which I frequented this coffee shop was a period of intense growth for me (but "SEPTEMBER 2012 TO SEPTEMBER 2013" isn't as catchy of a title as "Dollop").

Consequently (I'm going to run this word into the mother fucking ground), I'm trying to forge an association between Dollop and that transformative time. Honestly, this kinda feels like cheating. As if I'm saying "HERE GOES MY THESIS STATEMENT, NOW HERE GOES THE ESSAY." But long hair don't care here goes.

When I first moved to Chicago, I had the bad habit of waiting for good things to happen to me rather than going out and making them happen. Like many overachieving younguns, all scholastic endeavors were easily conquered. I aced the TAAS (Texas Assessment of Academic Skills) test. I had a 4.0 all throughout high school. I earned 247 personal pizzas through the Pizza Hut Book It! program (consequently, fat).

So when the going got tough, as it did when I started college, I threw up my hands and said "Fuck it, whatever." Like the time I switched majors because I couldn't grasp differential equations. Or the time I quit grad school. Twice.

I had been living here for two and a half years at that point and was starting to settle into the rhythm of the city. After numerous rejections (jobs, auditions, dogs), the crushing agony of failure was dulled to a slight stab, no twist.

"Oh, I don't get to be in your improv troupe? That's ok, no big."
"You don't want to bring me on as a copywriter for your pharmaceutical marketing company? Totally cool, man. Totally cool."

Dollop was when that started to change. Or, to be precise, the period of time around when we moved to the apartment that was within two blocks of Dollop is when that started to change. After enough rejections, you stop giving a fuck about being rejected. After enough rejections, you begin to realize that shit's not just going to happen for you. You have to make shit happen.

I can't pinpoint exactly when, but I started to make shit happen. I stopped sleeping in till noon. I began writing again. Reading more. Started doing squats.

Before long, I had accomplished a series of small successes that built upon the previous successes so that I had momentum to propel me forward.

I was accepted into portfolio school. I lost ten pounds. I wrote an essay that, although did not get published, received one of those nice rejection letters that says "Honestly, we like this piece a lot, we just can't right now, but def send us more of your work plz."

I finished portfolio school. I landed an internship. Which turned into a job. Which led to producing a few commercials.

During that time, whenever I wanted to get anything done, whether it be some reading or a blog post or a script, I'd go to Dollop (it's a loose connection, but it's there, I swear). Classmates and I would meet there to work on assignments. "Going to Dollop" became synonymous with "hustle and grind."

I'm not trying to write some inspirational essay to tell you to follow your dreams or whatever. In fact, following my dreams is what led to the crushing failure and spiral of depression I fell into the first few years here.

I'm just saying I realized that I have to keep moving. Being complacent and sedentary is what fucked me. Knowing that now, I become anxious if I'm not working towards a goal (which actually makes me feel like I can't enjoy myself anymore, but that's a different post altogether).

I will say that the constant rejections made me accustomed to failure. All of this success feels strange and foreign, like some weird trick being played on me by the universe. At some point, the rug will be pulled from beneath my feet and I'll fall back into the basement.

But (consequently) at least I know what to do when it does happen. With a mocha in one hand and a scone in the other, I just need to suck it up and go to Dollop.