The cracked mug I kept for 14 years finally died, and I found out I was attached to the wrong thing

I had this big blue mug with a crack running down the side that I got at a yard sale in Portland for 50 cents. I always said I kept it because it held the perfect amount of coffee, 16 ounces, and the crack made it feel like an old friend. Then last Tuesday it split clean in half while I was washing it. I was genuinely bummed for a day. Then I dug through my cupboard and found a plain white mug my sister gave me for my birthday 3 years ago that I never touched because it was too fancy. I used it this morning and honestly, it holds the same 16 ounces and the handle is way more comfortable. The crack was never the point, it was just the habit of using the same thing every day. Has anyone else realized their attachment was just routine, not the mug itself?

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parker5437d ago

Exactly, it's the ritual that becomes the friend, not the object.