‘A little bit of what you fancy” is a call for moderation that has never worked for me. Not for my coffee habit, at least, which slides from the steely resolve to drink just two cups a day, to a wobbly-willed four, five mugs, or more. I’m better at giving it up altogether. Total detox brings the high of self-control and the illusion that I have overcome the caffeine addiction, at least until I fall off the wagon again.
But some vices shouldn’t be given up, because they bring pleasure – and coffee is one of those for me. I love its mood-transforming uplift. It revs me up and calms me down. I once gave it up for two months – my longest abstention – hoping to shake off a virulent bout of insomnia, and it seemed as if I had entered the wilderness. Life felt more austere and my sleeplessness wasn’t solved, either. It was lose-lose.
So, three months ago, I decided, emphatically, not to kick the habit (and fail again) but to enjoy a single daily dose. This was initially born out of necessity: I went to a retreat where we were limited to a single cup of freshly ground coffee a day, at a time of our choosing, and I took great pains over deciding when I’d have mine, and where. Then I savoured it, desperate to make its effects last.
Strangely, when I got back home, I stuck to that single cup.
It is a change that feels simultaneously small and immense. I haven’t slid back into excess, even in times of stress. I don’t glug it down while scrolling or sitting at my laptop. I sit down and enjoy it, that’s all. It has turned from an unthinking habit into a treat. You could call it mindful coffee drinking, I suppose. Several times a week, I go down to a dinky little cafe called Lilac on my north London high street, where they also sell coffee by the kilo, which they grind freshly. I have found that the nicer the coffee, the less I need of it.
If I do feel a desire for more, I ask myself why. Am I anxious or tired? In which case, wouldn’t it be better to rest? Or am I thirsty? Is this a physiological craving or a psychological one? Because water perks up the organs and wakes up the mind, too. I have found myself gravitating towards the exotic loose-leaf herbal tea and realised that my apparent craving for a coffee is simply the need for a warm drink and a break from work. A habit is sometimes a displacement activity; once I had become conscious of the underlying reasons for mine, I could address them.
Importantly, I feel better for the coffee drinking. It clears my thoughts, and brings a sense of wellbeing. It is a reminder that it is excess that is detrimental, not coffee per se, which has circulatory benefits and is full of antioxidants. It’s amazing how my body has adjusted, too. On the rare occasion that I have had two coffees in one day, I feel uncomfortably wired. The rule of a single cup works, as long as it is actively savoured. A pleasure, not a vice at all.
Wolf Moon: A Woman’s Journey Into the Night by Arifa Akbar, is published by Sceptre (£16.99). To support the Guardian order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply