A word to those that think they are owed something: You are not. You need to earn it.

I am on another airplane heading toward enchanting Los Angeles (I say this with absolute seriousness. Have you been there lately?), thinking about the effort that goes into making something great. Nothing worthwhile ever just floats one’s way. You have to go after it. Everyone I know that has made something of themselves has worked hard at it—from the best baristas in the country and in the world, to the best coffee growers, to the best coffee buyers, to the best chefs at the best restaurants. Sure, some people are more predisposed than others to certain things, but those who possess these natural abilities are even better when they work hard and practice their craft. They are constant students of whatever will make them better. They pay attention and are willing to pay their dues.

Another thing about the great ones: they don’t complain about how hard they have to work at something; they just do it. They are not worried about being overlooked as their actions and not their words will define them. They don’t complain or quibble. They do what it takes.

Here is why—they don’t know any other way to it. The only thing the entitled should prepare themselves for is to be left behind. Choose your path wisely.

As usual summer in Chicago seems to slip by so quickly that by the time you notice it is here, it is gone. I realize that we only have five weeks left, then school starts up, the seasons proceed, and another year passes. I guess there is something to be said for being immortal. In this life, by the time you begin to figure anything out, you’ve haven’t got much time to do something about it. I hate wasting time, but at the same it’s nice to some down time to think.

Lately I feel as if I have been all over the place as I bounce between Chicago and the coasts (more West than East) in such a way I sometimes forget exactly where it is that I am. With occasional forays outside of the country, I go through this drill in my head:

Uh, where am I?
My own bed? No. Then not home.
Can I drink the water out of the tap? Yes. Then United States.
Smell like thick, sweet air with a bit of ocean salt? No. Then not Los Angeles.
Smell like eucalyptus and moss? Yes. Ah, then Northern California.
Smell of vineyards too? Yes. I am in Sonoma County.

I wonder how this game works inside the mind of Geoff Watts or any other heavily traveling coffee buyer.

On another note, does anybody ever read this stuff? (This doesn’t include you, Mom.)