When the Butterscotch Ran Out
lattes, lost candy, and the quiet work of preserving what matters
Every morning when I get to the office, I start the day with a small, sacred ritual: making the perfect latte.
The smell of fresh coffee, the hum of milk frothing, the careful sequence of cleaning the machine, dumping the grounds, topping up the milk and water.
The finale? A double latte, sweetened with sugar, French vanilla and hazelnut creamers, a drizzle of honey and my favorite part, dropping a single butterscotch candy into the cup. Over time while sipping, the candy melted and transformed the drink into something richer, more indulgent.
Then one day, they were gone.
In their place, a candy bowl filled with red Lifesavers stared back at me. Now, I have nothing against a Lifesaver, but they probably don’t melt into coffee the way butterscotch does and tbh, I’m not trying to find out. I found myself oddly disappointed, not just because they were missing, but because I had quietly expected someone else to replace them.
That pause made me realize: I wasn’t protecting the tradition I loved. I was waiting for it to be preserved for me. Without meaning to, I had abandoned my own agency in the ritual.
And it wasn’t just my mornings that were affected. When the butterscotch was there, the candy bowl drew more traffic. People would swing by, grab a candy, and end up lingering for a quick chat. My desk, right next to the bowl, became a little hub for casual, organic interactions. Those small moments mattered too. They were part of the sweetness worth keeping alive.
I could have easily bought another bag. I could have tried caramel, peppermint, even cinnamon. But I didn’t. I let the sweetness vanish while I stood by, hoping someone else would bring it back.
The truth is, the ritual isn’t about the candy, it’s about noticing joy in the details, taking ownership of it, and recognizing the ripple effects it can have. The sound of the brew. The warmth of the cup. The way a small indulgence, when you choose to keep it alive, can shift not just your day, but the days of people around you.
That’s the lesson the empty candy bowl left me with: if something matters to you, don’t wait for it to come back. Make the effort to keep it alive.
Someone beat me to it already but the next bag is on me.
-Matt