A Love Letter to Syndicate
This page sits here on this website. The staff probably doesn’t know it’s here and yet here it is and here you are. Sometimes a coffee shop isn’t just a coffee shop. Sometimes coffee is more than a morning wake up call; sometimes a place is more than just a place. Sometimes it’s home away from home. A place where people recognize you; a place where it feels like you matter. Let me tell you friend, YOU matter. We all matter. =)
What is a coffee shop? I mean, it’s a place where one goes to buy a cup of coffee — we know it’s more than that, though. We know what I’m talking about. Syndicate.
What is Syndicate? Well, it’s a little coffee shop in a little town called Sierra Madre. For the locals here, how many times have you told someone Oh, I live in Sierra Madre… you note the blank stare, they ask you where is THAT?? You say Ah it’s by Pasadena/Altadena/Arcadia… It’s a place that’s next to a place; a single exit of the 210fwy. It’s the place we all call home. Syndicate is where home is.
You spend enough time at Syndicate, you’ll notice a regular cast of characters or regulars. Surely, you notice the young folk behind the counter serving up good coffee and pastries—they all look cool, with good hair and fun spectacles. They’re chasing something. Sure, they work hard, do good work, and you can taste it, smell it even. No, no. It’s not body odor; it’s a buttery flaky croissant that took three days to make… Their faces are familiar, they change with time. The personality of the place we come to anges a bit for their presence there for what feels like a split second. Their time spent is profound. They talk to your kiddos; they talk to you about something cool, they put you on to something you didn’t know, or they absorb your stories and knowledge.
A coffee shop is a coffee shop. No?
No. One could go to Starbucks, well-staffed, you’ll get something that boosts your caffeine, draws you to attention but it doesn’t quite feed your sould does it? No. Of course not. It can’t. It can’t because to fill the soul. That takes risk, it takes a scrappy crew, a dream, and sweat equity, elbow grease — that which cannot be taught but must be contended with day in and day out.
It’s difficult to risk opening a shop at all. It’s difficult to manage a team, to deal with personalities of all types—some days you feel like you’re at the top of your game, other days you feel more like the nail than the hammer. When you come to a place where you’re known, it helps one feel understood… Seen.
One time, I felt like I was in the gutter, unseen, unmet. I came, got my coffee and exchanged pleasantries… I sat at a laptop with a dark screen; I did not work. I could only think I was alone. No one sees me… It was depressing; I was depressed. I felt like a background character in everyone else’s life. I issued a blank stare at a blank screen. A piece of paper with a perforated top fell to my table; it was a concentric line drawing portrait of me. I looked up; I saw a tall, lanky kid with messy blond hair and giant headphones. He said, “It’s you, man.” He walked out… It was a simple gesture and something I needed right then, right there. To know that I’m seen, that I matter. That drawing is framed in my place, a helpful reminder when I need it most.
A coffee shop is a coffee shop. No?
No. It’s not. A coffee shop is DNA; it’s togetherness, whether we know it or not. A place where we belong, a place that is what we need to be when we least expect it.
Syndicate is a place where we all belong. Come on in, have a cup!