Mmm. First day of winter. Peppermint mocha at Starbucks. My Christmas present to myself. I have to admit, I am a Starbucks junkie. I tell myself that I go only as a special treat, but the truth is that while I lived in Fresno I went far more frequently than that. (Luckily I now live in the boondocks—where, ironically, the nearest place to get a drink of any sort is a bar called Boondocks.) I used to pride myself on not liking Starbucks—too corporate, a big chain coffee shop, no personality. I preferred independent coffee shops, with all of their quirks and one-of-a-kind offerings. But Starbucks won me over.
There is something comforting about knowing I can walk into a Starbucks anywhere in the country and it will feel the same. I can count on the menu, the music, the furniture, the décor, the cups. The walls never get painted a brilliant orange, my iced coffee always has the perfect amount of sweetener (2 pumps please), I don’t have to peruse the menu, the WiFi always works.
In Fresno my favorite Starbucks was the shop at Figarden Village. Decently sized, lots of outdoor seating, a few good nooks and crannies, the same friendly blonde barista, a nostalgic quote stenciled on the wall. I found my new favorite Starbucks a week ago. One of the largest ones I have been in, with lots of tables, a quaint living room sitting area with (count ‘em) 3 armchairs and 1 couch, mirrors adorning the walls, big windows.
Call me crazy (and a sucker for sappy) but I really like the Starbucks Christmas marketing theme this year. “Stories are gifts—Share.” Maybe it’s because I have such an interesting story from this past year, or maybe it’s because I have been gifted by sharing in the stories of dear friends this summer and fall. Maybe it’s because I love presents! Maybe it’s because I love books (and storybooks). Maybe it’s because I’m part of the postmodern generation. At any rate, I like it; and the slogan makes me feel warm and thoughtful when I see it. My story is a gift, and it is good to share stories. My story is not a burden, or a bad ending or boring or only sad. It is an adventure, with bumps and breakdowns and soaring glistening moments so full you could burst and new chapters and deja vu’s and spiral curriculum and tear-stained pages and notes in the margin and a coffee-cup-wrinkled cover, because it is well-loved (like the tattered Velveteen Rabbit) and worth reading and telling over and over.
Stories are gifts. Share.
I want to share my story. I want to share it because I want to have relationships, and relationships don’t exist apart from sharing story snippets with each other. But mostly, the marketing slogan resonates with me because I don’t want to be ashamed of my stories, to assume that they are not worth telling or hearing. Sharing stories is important for both the teller and the hearer, and for me right now, I want to tell my stories just to be telling them—to tell the truth about what I experience and how I live my experiences—even if I tell it only to myself.
Parker Palmer, one of my current favorite authors, puts it this way:
“The experience of darkness has been essential to my coming into selfhood, and telling the truth about that fact helps me stay in the light.” (Let Your Life Speak)
To tell a story gives it fullness and validity. When I tell my stories, it reminds me that they are real and that there are lots of good parts. I know that so well when I hear others’ stories, but I find it hard to hear the validity of my own stories until I actually tell them.
I’ll spare you the even sappier sub-slogans of the season. (Besides, this is the only one that had a point.) I have some other stories to get to—I’m rereading the Harry Potter series, start to finish, in a very short time frame. What can I say—Starbucks isn’t the only pop culture phenomenon I fell for!
There is something comforting about knowing I can walk into a Starbucks anywhere in the country and it will feel the same. I can count on the menu, the music, the furniture, the décor, the cups. The walls never get painted a brilliant orange, my iced coffee always has the perfect amount of sweetener (2 pumps please), I don’t have to peruse the menu, the WiFi always works.
In Fresno my favorite Starbucks was the shop at Figarden Village. Decently sized, lots of outdoor seating, a few good nooks and crannies, the same friendly blonde barista, a nostalgic quote stenciled on the wall. I found my new favorite Starbucks a week ago. One of the largest ones I have been in, with lots of tables, a quaint living room sitting area with (count ‘em) 3 armchairs and 1 couch, mirrors adorning the walls, big windows.
Call me crazy (and a sucker for sappy) but I really like the Starbucks Christmas marketing theme this year. “Stories are gifts—Share.” Maybe it’s because I have such an interesting story from this past year, or maybe it’s because I have been gifted by sharing in the stories of dear friends this summer and fall. Maybe it’s because I love presents! Maybe it’s because I love books (and storybooks). Maybe it’s because I’m part of the postmodern generation. At any rate, I like it; and the slogan makes me feel warm and thoughtful when I see it. My story is a gift, and it is good to share stories. My story is not a burden, or a bad ending or boring or only sad. It is an adventure, with bumps and breakdowns and soaring glistening moments so full you could burst and new chapters and deja vu’s and spiral curriculum and tear-stained pages and notes in the margin and a coffee-cup-wrinkled cover, because it is well-loved (like the tattered Velveteen Rabbit) and worth reading and telling over and over.
Stories are gifts. Share.
I want to share my story. I want to share it because I want to have relationships, and relationships don’t exist apart from sharing story snippets with each other. But mostly, the marketing slogan resonates with me because I don’t want to be ashamed of my stories, to assume that they are not worth telling or hearing. Sharing stories is important for both the teller and the hearer, and for me right now, I want to tell my stories just to be telling them—to tell the truth about what I experience and how I live my experiences—even if I tell it only to myself.
Parker Palmer, one of my current favorite authors, puts it this way:
“The experience of darkness has been essential to my coming into selfhood, and telling the truth about that fact helps me stay in the light.” (Let Your Life Speak)
To tell a story gives it fullness and validity. When I tell my stories, it reminds me that they are real and that there are lots of good parts. I know that so well when I hear others’ stories, but I find it hard to hear the validity of my own stories until I actually tell them.
I’ll spare you the even sappier sub-slogans of the season. (Besides, this is the only one that had a point.) I have some other stories to get to—I’m rereading the Harry Potter series, start to finish, in a very short time frame. What can I say—Starbucks isn’t the only pop culture phenomenon I fell for!
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