Sipping on 'What ifs' at the Curiosity Counter

If curiosity had a café, I’d be a regular. Like, "pull up my usual stool, Mabel," kind of regular. The Curiosity Counter—nestled between a bakery that always smells suspiciously like questions and a bookstore that sells only plot twists—would be my go-to spot.

Every morning, I’d stroll in like a woman on a mission (or at least like someone who misplaced her to-do list and decided to wing it with wonder). The barista, probably a talking fox in a monocle—because of course—would greet me: “Back again?” "As long as reality’s confusing and my life choices remain spicy,” I’d reply.

Sunday: I’d order a steaming mug of “Why does this always happen right before Monday?”—a bold roast of reflection with a splash of existential dread and a cinnamon stick of perspective. Perfect for washing down the Sunday Scaries with a swirl of “maybe it’s all connected."

Monday: Give me the double-shot espresso of ‘What if this turns out better than expected?’ Please hold the self-doubt foam. It’s Monday. I need something that kicks like optimism and smells like potential.

Tuesday: I’d go wild with a curiosity malt—half “I still have time,” half “Is it too late to become a trapeze artist?” Topped with a dollop of determination and one sprinkle of panic. The perfect blend for action with a side of possible reinvention.

Wednesday: Midweek is for the “Hindsight-Forward” smoothie. It tastes like lessons, possibilities, and your 10-year-old self cheering you on from the past. A little thick, but worth the work.

Thursday: Maybe something light—a curiosity canapé. Just enough to nibble on between tasks. Maybe it asks, “What if the thing you’re avoiding is exactly where your next breakthrough lives?” I chew thoughtfully, then pretend I didn’t hear it.

Friday: “Round of curiosity for the house!” I shout. By now, everyone in the café is delightfully unhinged with what-ifs and why-nots. A jazz trio plays in the corner, one of them might be a time traveler. Hard to say.

Saturday: Ah, the double breakfast day.  First course: ‘What else could this become?’ eggs.  Followed by ‘Where could this lead if we stopped pretending we know how it ends?’ pancakes. By second breakfast, we’re deep in a brainstorm about starting a curiosity circus or becoming idea cartographers. No bad ideas, only questionable clarity.

By the time Sunday rolls around again, I’m buzzed on wonder and maybe a little pie. Because let’s face it, curiosity is best served warm, a little messy, and always with extra napkins.

So, what’ll it be today?

I hear the “What if we stopped waiting?” latte pairs nicely with bold moves.