Cork Views: If I can make a cup of tea when the world feels like it's ending, I'm ok

“Well, Jess,” my Grandad suddenly concludes one Friday as I hand him a mug. “If this journalism thing doesn’t work out, you’d be a great tea-lady.”

I immediately laugh because of how true it is, if only I had a steadier hand.

Gran tries to help me brainstorm opinion article ideas. “Why don’t you write one on how much you love a good cup of tea?” she suggests earnestly. It’s tempting, but probably not very interesting.

“Let’s go get you a cup of tea,” my best friend suggests when she notices I look a little stressed. Her mom bought sugar for their house after I started visiting more regularly, and couldn’t drink tea unsweetened.

It should come as no surprise, then, that when presented with the question: “How do you relax, if you don’t drink or use drugs?” that I immediately respond with “tea”

Tea and I became synonymous in my teen years, when my mental health turned my life into a rapidly deviating line of extreme highs and lows.

When nobody knew what else to do or say, they offered me tea.

I’d grown up hearing that the simple things in life were the best, but never fully understood what it meant until my life became more regulated. Now, as an adult myself, I understand the joy in the small things more than ever.

During those years where I was unwell, I couldn’t imagine a calm life where I was content, convinced that my brain would deem it “boring”, and that “boring” would lead to feeling trapped.

I didn’t realise it was an option to be content with the simple things.

Did a cup of tea magically fix my mental health? No, of course not. But it became something my brain associated with calmness, and then with joy.

I realised the power of joy by association during lockdown, when music became an even bigger part of my daily routine than it had ever been. I noticed that my Dad’s music taste revolved around happy memories attached to particular songs and TV shows. Mom only felt truly ready to start the day after grabbing the same coffee order every day from a local cafe, and chatting to the baristas who knew her order by heart.

It was then I connected the dots and realised that the joy in the simple things weren’t limited just to one person.

When someone is content or happy, they act that way, and it rubs off on others. It sparks conversation and the building of a friendship, which is in itself a simple joy.

In growing older, I’ve learned a lot about the way my brain works, and now I can usually tell when I’m starting to feel overwhelmed. It can’t always be stopped, but it can always be helped – and so, my life has become a slow constant, and I’ve become a bit of an old lady in the eyes of my friends.

I know that I tend to ‘info-dump’ about the things that bring me joy, but it’s only in the hope that my friends might feel a little bit of that joy too.

No pleasure should be guilty, which is why I smile now when someone playfully offers me tea, or starts talking about their own joys in great detail, knowing that even if I don’t understand the appeal, I understand their enthusiasm. To be known is to be loved.

From the outside, I imagine my life must look quite boring, or slow-paced. To me, prioritising the simple things that bring me joy turns the mundane into bliss.

So much of our lives is uncontrollable, so if I can make a cup of tea or play my vinyls while the world feels like it’s ending, I am okay. I am content.

It also makes the really great things in life feel incredible – going to concerts, the theatre, travelling.

Before, I used to dread the ‘coming down’ after an extreme high patch, because, inevitably, it would feel drastically different and painful. Now, I fly home from London happy that I’ll get to continue my nightly walks with Dad and my dog. Home has Barry’s tea. You’re allowed to find joy in strange places.

Recognising the simple things that bring you joy in your own life can teach you a lot about yourself and what you need.

For example, the little things that bring me joy also bring me calm and familiarity. For another person, their little things could make them laugh a lot and force their mind to focus on the funny elements of life.

Being able to identify what little things bring you joy can also put how you deal with stress into perspective. If what I need to get through a rough patch is tea, video games, alone time, and music, then I would say for the first time ever in my life – I deal with everyday stress healthily!

If my teenage self could see me today, I don’t think she’d really recognise me. I had so many expectations of what life ‘should’ look like by certain ages, and if the teenagers in TV shows were anything to go by, I was definitely very behind.

I would be lying if I said I don’t sometimes worry that my life is running away from me, and I start to spiral. My classmates are getting married, raising children, emigrating, and hiking up foreign mountains. Is that what I should want for myself right now?

It’s then that I imagine lining my life up with the snippets I see of theirs, and I can see everything I’ve been through and how I made it here.

Comparing my life to what I see of my friends’ lives is both unfair and illogical – because I’m comparing their big joys to my everyday small ones.

I am a writer, like I always wanted to be! I have gotten to see musicals I never thought I’d get to see in real life. Also, my life and brain are balanced enough that sometimes a cup of tea can stave off a panic attack.

The simple things that bring me joy are the constants, the familiar, the boring, the beloved.

It’s so beautiful, and so ordinary, and if I could tell my teenage self anything, it would be that two things can be true at once.