I like, I mean, love coffee. So, several years ago (five to be exact), I bought this totally awesome coffee mug.
It had a map of the world and on each continent it said the word “coffee” in the local language. Now, this was my favorite mug. I could muse at how people in Indonesia, or Latvia might pronounce coffee. “Kopi,” or “kafija” I would say to myself on any quiet morning. This mug made me feel smug and snug.
When I wanted some coffee (or tea) I would reach for this particular mug in the cupboard. I liked the smooth sandy feel of the ceramic as my lips touched the rim to partake of that sweet nectar. It was an ideal size and it fit in my hand so nicely. This mug and I were great friends. I must have employed this mug nearly every day for the task of being my portal in which I would enjoy coffee from.
The other day, in my usual groggy-morning-mood, I opened the cupboard, yawned and reached for my favorite mug. There it was on the top shelf. I took it down and as I was putting the kettle on, somehow it escaped my grip. Gravity pulled it down to the floor and it exploded in a crash. All that remained were the bits and pieces of a once loved mug. And ya know what? I don’t even care. It’s just a stupid mug. That’s why.
It kind of made me realize the silly value we put on our material goods. Sure, they’re cool and we like them, but they’re nugatory. (Aha! An opportunity to use the word “nugatory”).