Coffee Ring Journals

There’s a notebook on my desk with a coffee ring on the cover.

Not a bold one—just a faint outline where the mug once sat too long.

I meant to wipe it off. I didn’t.

Now it’s just… part of the notebook. A quiet emblem of real life unfolding.

The pages inside are cluttered with half-thoughts, reminders, and the occasional idea worth circling. It’s messy. Random. Honest. The kind of notebook you reach for out of habit, not inspiration.

But that stain—it keeps catching my eye.

It’s proof I was there. That something happened while I was mid-thought, mid-sip, mid-whatever. Not during a highlight, but in the blur of everyday rhythm.

Coffee rings don’t form during the dramatic moments.

They show up when you’re stalled. Thinking. Waiting for the next word.

They appear in silence—when the conversation’s paused, the task half-finished, the mind elsewhere.

And yet, they stay.

That little mark on the cover might outlast the contents of the notebook itself.

The ring will still be visible long after the to-do lists are irrelevant.

There’s something oddly comforting about that.

We spend so much time trying to tidy our lives—clean lines, curated thoughts, good lighting. But real life leaves marks.

It smudges. It spills. It settles on surfaces we meant to keep neat.

And in doing so, it tells the truth.

That we were here.

That we showed up.

That something brewed beside us while we were trying to make sense of it all.

So maybe the coffee ring isn’t a blemish. Maybe it’s the signature.

The moment I stopped editing and started living.

—Everett

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