☕ Cafe-Hopping in a Foreign City to Avoid a Quarter-Life Crisis.
It started with a meltdown over oatmeal.
Not the oatmeal itself, but what it represented: routine, boredom, and the terrifying realization that I had no clue what I was doing with my life. So, like any millennial with a credit card and a craving for distraction, I booked a solo trip to a city I’d never been to—Lisbon. My only plan? Cafe-hop until I figured things out.
Turns out, Lisbon has more coffee shops than I have existential questions (barely). On day one, I wandered into a sun-drenched spot tucked in an alleyway where the barista had a man bun and tattooed arms that spelled out "amor." I ordered a flat white and sat by the window pretending to journal. In reality, I people-watched and scrolled through job listings I had no intention of applying for.
Every day after that became a ritual: wake up, Google “aesthetic cafes near me,” and walk to a new spot with the vague hope that caffeine and croissants would somehow rearrange my brain chemistry. There was the minimalist cafe with concrete walls and oat milk everything, the vintage bookstore-turned-bistro, and the hidden courtyard café where time seemed to pause completely.
Each one offered something different: ambiance, anonymity, almond cake. And yet, they all gave me the same thing — a gentle pause. A place to sit and breathe. To feel a little lost, but also a little okay with being lost.
I eavesdropped on Portuguese grandmas gossiping in corners, overheard digital nomads talking about crypto, and once watched a stranger cry into her cappuccino while her friend held her hand. I smiled at dogs, scribbled poetry in my notes app, and had exactly 37 cups of coffee in one week.
One morning, a waitress asked me if I was a writer. I laughed and said, “Trying to be.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Keep sitting in cafes. It helps.”
And you know what? It did.
In a way, cafe-hopping became therapy. It wasn’t about the coffee (though, wow, that espresso was divine). It was about giving myself the space to be soft, to not have all the answers. About replacing “What am I doing with my life?” with “Where should I get coffee today?”
By the end of my trip, I didn’t have a 10-year plan. I didn’t start a business or have a movie-montage breakthrough. But I felt lighter. A little more human. A little less afraid.
So if you ever find yourself spiraling in your mid-20s, unsure of everything—grab your passport and a good pair of walking shoes. Go cafe-hopping in a city where no one knows your name. Order the pastry. Tip the barista. Sit by the window.
Because sometimes, a well-pulled espresso in a charming foreign cafe doesn’t fix your life. But it reminds you that maybe, just maybe, you’re going to be okay.
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