A couple of weeks ago, I went out to dinner alone while traveling for work. I ordered a meal at a sit-down restaurant. But when the food came, it was served in a Styrofoam container with plastic cutlery—like I had ordered takeout. I hadn’t. I was sitting right there at the table.
This wasn’t a fast-food counter. It was supposed to be a real dining experience. And yet, everything that makes a meal feel intentional—gone.
I’ve noticed this happening more and more. I walk into a coffee shop, and before I can say anything, my drink is handed to me in a paper cup with a plastic lid, even though I’m not going anywhere. It’s not that I can’t drink from a paper cup. It’s that we’ve stopped pausing long enough to offer something more lasting, something more human—like a mug.
What happened to sitting in a café and enjoying a warm drink from real ceramic? What happened to being served a hot meal on an actual plate? The little joys that make life feel… well, like life?
Some might think I’m overthinking it. But I don’t believe this is insignificant. These things matter. Because when everything becomes disposable, when every moment is treated like it’s not worth much, we start to feel that way too.
The weight of a mug in your hand. The sound of a spoon against a plate. The stillness of sitting down and being present. These are small things—but they ground us. They remind us that life isn’t just meant to be consumed. It’s meant to be experienced.
When the details disappear, when everything starts to feel temporary and rushed and cheapened, it changes how we treat each other—and how we see ourselves.
This creeping disposability shows up everywhere. In our relationships. In our cities. In our work. And it’s no surprise that loneliness, apathy, and disconnection are on the rise. Because when nothing feels designed to last, when even the smallest comforts are stripped away, what’s left?
Nice things are nice. And they make people feel nice. When people feel valued—even in small ways—they become kinder, more present, more connected. That’s not about being fancy. That’s about being human.
So yes, give me the real plate. The real mug. The table that’s been thoughtfully set. Because those things quietly say: you matter. And that’s something the world could use a lot more of.
Credit – original owner ( respect 🫡)
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