There's a cafe on the corner of my street. Small. Unremarkable. The kind of place you might walk past without noticing. But over the past two years, it's become a kind of anchor point in my life.
I didn't set out to become a "regular." It just happened through proximity and repetition. Saturday mornings. Coffee and a scone. Sit at the window table if it's free.
Now when I walk in, the owner nods. Doesn't say much. Just starts making my usual order. I don't have to ask. There's comfort in that.
Being a regular somewhere is a particular kind of belonging. Not friendship, exactly. Something more subtle. Recognized. Expected. Part of the pattern of a place.
I know the rhythms now. Busy on weekend mornings. Quiet on Tuesday afternoons. The college student who works Thursdays always has a different band t-shirt. The retired couple who sit at the corner table every Sunday at 11:15.
We're not friends. We rarely speak beyond pleasantries. But we're part of each other's routines. Familiar faces. Predictable presences. The human furniture of this shared space.
There's something grounding about having a place where you're known. Where the barista remembers how you take your coffee. Where you have your preferred seat. Where absence would be noted, even if not remarked upon.
In a world of constant change and digital connection, this kind of physical, local, repeated presence feels increasingly rare and valuable. Being a regular somewhere offers small, steady belonging.
I could make coffee at home. It would be cheaper and more convenient. But I'd miss this. The ritual of walking to the corner. The familiar bell above the door. The way light comes through the window in the morning. The quiet soundtrack of a neighborhood cafe.
It's not about the coffee, really. It's about connection to place. About being part of a community, however loosely defined. About the accumulation of ordinary moments that, over time, create attachment.
The cafe might not be here forever. Businesses close. Neighborhoods change. But for now, it's here. And on Saturday mornings, so am I. One small point of consistency in the flow of days.
Being a regular doesn't require grand gestures or deep relationships. Just showing up. Returning. Becoming part of the pattern of a place through simple, repeated presence.
That's what I've found at the corner cafe. Not a second home or a social hub. Just a small space I return to regularly. A place that knows my order. A quiet form of belonging that asks nothing more than consistency.
See you Saturday morning.