A Letter to My First French Press: How a Simple Tool Became My Daily Therapy
An emotional, lifestyle-driven tribute to the humble French press that brought clarity, comfort, and calm to everyday life.
Dear French Press,
I still remember the day I brought you home. You weren’t fancy—just a simple glass cylinder with a steel plunger, no branding, no frills. But from the moment I brewed my first cup in you, something shifted.
You didn’t just make coffee. You made space for morning motivation.
Before you, mornings were mechanical. I poured instant coffee into hot water and called it self-care. But the moment I met you, everything slowed down. I learned to measure, to boil, to wait—and in that waiting, I discovered a new rhythm for my mornings.
You taught me the beauty of process.
With you, I began waking up earlier—not out of obligation, but out of anticipation. I wanted those ten minutes of silence, watching hot water bloom through coarse grounds. I wanted the aroma that filled the kitchen like a warm hug. I wanted the calm before the day began.
You weren’t just a French press. You were therapy.
When life got heavy—when anxiety knocked louder than my alarm—you were there. I gripped your handle tightly as if I could extract courage with every brew. And most days, I did.
Because in a chaotic world, your simplicity grounded me. You didn’t beep or buzz. You didn’t rush. You waited. And somehow, you taught me to do the same.
You showed me that joy doesn’t come from big gestures, but from small rituals done with love.
I remember mornings when I cried into my mug, barely able to function. But even then, you stood there—silent, dependable, offering your warmth. You reminded me that routine could be a form of resilience. That brewing a cup of coffee could be an act of survival.
And slowly, things got better.
I started sharing you with others. Friends who visited marveled at the ritual. I’d smile, show them how to swirl the grounds, how to wait for the perfect steep, how to press gently. You helped me connect. You started conversations. You made my kitchen feel like a sanctuary.
And soon, you became a symbol.
People didn’t just ask what coffee I used—they asked how I brewed it. My little online videos featuring you gained attention. Turns out, many of us were craving more than caffeine. We were craving pause, presence, peace. You helped me share that.
You became a part of my brand, my mornings, my life.
But like all great companions, time began to show on you. Your glass grew cloudy. Your lid started slipping. The mesh frayed. I knew it was time—but letting go was harder than I thought.
Because you weren’t just a coffee tool. You were part of my healing.
Saying goodbye felt personal. Like closing a chapter. But even as I packed you away, I knew: what you gave me would stay.
Now, there’s a newer French press in my kitchen. It’s shinier, sleeker, and yes, it makes great coffee. But there will never be another you.
You were the first step in a better life.
You gave me mornings that mattered. You turned caffeine into ritual. You helped me fall in love with presence—and with myself.
So thank you, old friend a.k.a. JP’s French press.
For every early morning, every slow sip, every quiet conversation. For being more than glass and metal. For being my anchor.
Forever brewed into my story,
—Jannes