Coffee has been made everyday in my house since Labor Day Weekend 2007 – when Ken and I first moved in.

Morning coffee is a bit of a religion here and it’s been quite an experience going without a single drop over the last 14 days.

And while this rich, delicious, bitter brew from the gods has long been a constant in my home, today was the first time I savored it.

Ken had just poured a fresh cup and it was like every one of my senses got swirled in with his touch of milk.

I felt the warmth.

Smelled that deceiving nuttiness that tricks kids (or at least tricked this kid) into believing it may be sweet all on it’s own.

Saw those hues of reds and browns cream together.

Tasted dark chocolate, red wine, and peanut butter.  Flavors get combined in my imagination.  And delicious tends to manifest more delicious.

Then, I actually moaned.

“Everything about that is so good,” I told Ken.

He smiled, agreed, but stopped short of offering me any.

Somehow being hyper aware of how lovely this mug of morning was (is) subsided my craving – and a whopping two weeks in I finally get it.

While feeling better, losing weight, and learning lots of new things are extremely fulfilling – all of these experiences are merely positive byproducts of cleansing.  Not the goal.

The goal (of course) is gratitude.

For the abundance.

And the experience.

And the return to true loves with renewed appreciation and healthy longing.

It was by far the best cup of coffee I never had.