The Mug That Kept Coming Back
I didn’t expect the mug story to get a sequel, but I should’ve known better. Once an object becomes part of your daily scaffolding, it turns out it also becomes a little plot device.
A few weeks ago at a Christmas party, our book club did gifts for everyone. One of the spouses handed me mine in the kitchen—no ceremony, no backstory, just a simple “here you go” in the middle of conversation and clinking plates.
The mug was festive in a way my old one never was: a dark background with poinsettias and greenery, plus a goldish rim and handle. Gold isn’t really my thing. I liked the plain black of the mug I broke—quiet, unshowy, almost stubbornly practical. Still, this new one was close enough to feel like possibility.
The sides were straight enough, even if they didn’t taper inward the way I now know would be ideal. The walls were thin and light, which matters more than most people realize. The handle fit well—honestly, better than the last one. It wasn’t perfect, but it felt usable, and “usable” is its own kind of relief. I kept it. I started testing it the way you test anything that might become part of your routine: tired, half-distracted, paying attention to the tiny points of failure.
Then I sat down to polish the draft of this follow-up, and Christa—without knowing she was walking straight into the middle of my metaphor—found me a Christmas gift.
It’s black. It’s smaller. The lip curls inward just enough to help prevent spills. There are ridges on the body that make it easier to hold without thinking. The walls are thin and light in that particular way I like. The handle fits my fingers like it was measured.
It’s the kind of “perfect” that doesn’t feel glamorous. It feels inevitable—like the version of the mug story where the world finally gets practical.
And, suddenly, the middle mug—the gold-rimmed, holiday-patterned almost-replacement—finds its place, too. It can stay on coffee duty. The new black one will be for tea, which I like more anyway. Not a replacement, exactly. More like a small expansion of the day.
I keep coming back to how none of this is really about mugs. It’s about what happens after something breaks: the scrambling, the adapting, the small indignities, the small wins. It’s about how function can be a kind of peace. It’s also about how kindness shows up in different costumes—sometimes dressed up for a party, sometimes handed to you by the person who knows your hands best.
