Yes, mug, coffee does make everything better. I can’t see the steam, but I know it’s there in the dark. The color is perfect, a creamy tan that harkens to the rich, golden sands of the wild, beautiful desert. Not too light. Not too dark. The mug is white except for its gold stenciled lettering. Not really my style, but I can’t escape its profound and universal truth. It lifts my spirits so often when I’m feeling low or sad. I look at its words and immediately a smile comes to my face as I am unable to deny its message. It does indeed make everything better.

I raise it to my lips and take a small sip. Just a bit warmer than is comfortable for skin or mouth. This is fine, it’s better than not warm enough—which it will be way before it’s gone. I feel the rumble of an airplane taking off in the distance. I wonder where it’s going, and the wanderlust slowly starts to creep in. Its tendrils slinking their way into my veins. The coffee, however, keeps its force at bay. Reminding me that there is joy and contentment sipping coffee just the way I like it—from my own mug, on my own couch, in my own quiet living room.

The fan of the faux fireplace roars, but hums in its own incandescent way. Its fire-like lights turn in front of what’s supposed to be a piece of wood but looks like a hand, discarded and tossed into the fire. I long for the smell and warmth of a real fire. Like the ones I smelled as I walked through the neighborhood in the chilled, crisp air last night. But I have no desire to manage a fire or clean the fireplace. So the mechanical contraption, which is really just a blower and a heating coil, will have to do on this brisk Texas morning.

I take another sip of coffee—just barely warm enough. The race begins, and I will have to take as many sips as I can before it starts to feel cold without feeling like I’m chugging it. Chugging coffee feels gauche and wrong, but the warmth will only last a few more minutes. Coffee makes everything better? Not if it’s cold.