Jehan Casinader quits coffee... and changes his life
Jehan Casinader breaks up with his favourite drug – and wonders if he will ever feel whole again.
When Jerry Seinfeld created an online talk show, he dedicated it to three of his great loves: comedians, cars and coffee. The charming series, Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee, has run online for almost a decade.
One by one, the world’s funniest people have climbed into Seinfeld’s passenger seat and embarked on whimsical journeys. The cars are sleek. The comedians are sublime. But make no mistake: they rely on coffee to keep those wheels turning.
Seinfeld discovered caffeine pretty late in life – in his 40s, after he had kids. ‘‘I realised, ‘Boy, this coffee really gets you talking’,’’ he said. ‘‘And I thought, ‘Maybe I’ll do a show where you just talk with coffee’.’’
In one episode, he lambasts Seinfeld co-creator Larry David for refusing to drink coffee when they meet at a cafe´ . David holds a cup of herbal tea and argues there is no difference between the two drinks.
‘‘You wanna know the difference?’’ Seinfeld blusters. ‘‘[Imagine] we go to an icecream shop. You get a cone. I get a salad. That’s the difference. It’s the mood!’’
He’s right. The mood of Western civilisation is regulated by coffee. Each morning, well before the hum of traffic envelops a city, the spluttering of coffee machines heralds the start of a new day.
Addicts are conditioned to get excited well before they touch their desired substance. The crunching noise of the grinder, the clicking and clacking of the machine, the comforting gurgle of the milk frother – my dopamine receptors are being tickled before the cup reaches my lips.
Coffee is a wonderous, cheap, legal, widely available and socially acceptable drug. What’s even more extraordinary is that I existed for so long without it.
As a kid, I watched my parents drink grainy, bitter cups of instant Nescafe´ . A well-brewed cup of Dilmah tea seemed far more appealing to me. Throughout university and the first few years of my working life, black tea gave me a gentle nudge – but never a kick.
One afternoon in 2015, I bought a flat white for the first time. I was on my way to interview a boring tax expert at IRD. By the time I sat down, I felt like Bradley Cooper in the movie Limitless.
My mind had opened up. I was fully present in the room – hyperaware of my surroundings. I wasn’t thinking about anything else, because my focus had become razor-sharp. I could see a map of the interview in my brain, and could visualise different paths the conversation could take. And I felt good – really good.
I was hooked. I discovered that coffee boosted my performance, creativity and decision-making. It improved my relationships by making my interactions with people more dynamic. It allowed me to override my lethargy and apathy.
Once you learn to say ‘‘I need a coffee’’, you realise that your need is insatiable. There’s always a good reason for coffee. And who in their right mind would refuse a warm, milky stimulant?
It’s curious, however, that caffeine is the only psychoactive drug that employers endorse – and even provide for free on work premises. That’s because companies benefit from their staff being juiced up on Ethiopia’s finest beans.
Coffee improves the productivity of almost any worker: the manager who was up all night with a newborn baby; the employee who was at their desk till 11pm, trying to meet a deadline; the shift worker who started at 3.30am.
For the rest of us – who are permanently stressed, sluggish and scatterbrained – coffee helps to fire up our brains. Take coffee out of a workplace and watch the output (and bottom line) immediately plummet.
Over the past five years, I have used coffee to improve my mental agility before completing important tasks. A humble flat white has often improved my performance by 10, 20 or even 30 per cent.
But over time, the buzz wore off quicker. In the afternoons I would crash, so I needed more coffee to reach the end of the day.
Coffee blocks the receptors in your brain that make you feel tired. It also increases the amount of cortisol – the stress hormone – in your body. Isn’t it crazy that we start each day by voluntarily increasing our stress levels?
Caffeine has a ‘‘half-life’’ of five hours. If you have a coffee at 10am, half of that caffeine is still in your bloodstream at 3pm – and half of that caffeine is still there at 8pm. At night, many of us are still wired. When we wake up, our bodies are experiencing withdrawal symptoms.
Let’s be clear: research shows that drinking coffee in moderation does not cause harm. Some studies have even suggested that it may have health benefits, like improving heart health and reducing inflammation.
Ask a friend if they have a problem with coffee and they’ll probably say, ‘‘Who, me? Not at all’’. But chances are, the same person will gladly tell you about their disrupted sleep, their irritable gut, their lack of focus at work, their headaches or their anxiety.
The truth is, we’re an overcaffeinated generation. We just haven’t realised it. Along with booze and sugar, we use coffee to numb ourselves to the pressures of modern life. I recently walked past a Wellington cafe´ with a sign that read: ‘‘Come and get an espresso so you don’t feel depresso’’. Capitalism has taught us that efficiency and productivity are more important than our own wellbeing. Rather than confronting the unhealthy, stressful patterns in our lives – like the volume of our work and the mounting distractions of technology – we drink coffee to give us the energy to soldier on. I realised I was no longer buying coffee because I enjoyed it or because it helped my creativity. I was mainly using it to silence my body’s signals when it was asking for food, rest or sleep.
I wanted to function as a human being without relying on a substance – just as I did for the first 25 years of my life.
The mood of Western civilisation is regulated by coffee. Each morning, well before the hum of traffic envelops a city, the spluttering of coffee machines heralds the start of a new day.
Online, there’s plenty of advice about how to give up coffee. Most of it suggests a slow weaning process, rather than going cold turkey. Over two weeks, I gradually reduced the amount of barista-made coffee I drank, then switched to homemade plunger coffee. Each day, my coffees became weaker and weaker until I was practically drinking hot water.
For a few days, I had a dull headache and found it difficult to focus, but those symptoms quickly faded away.
It has been a month since I gave up completely, and my body has adjusted. My energy level is much more consistent throughout the day. My mood is more stable. My digestion is better. And I’m sleeping for longer.
I don’t miss coffee as much as I thought I would. But I do miss many of the perks that come with it.
In a chaotic world, the effortless ritual of wandering down to the same cafe´ each morning is something to be treasured. When life feels messy and uncertain, that simple act provides an anchor point.
We are all desperate for human connection. There’s something special about being able to share a few minutes of idle chat with a barista at the start of each day. But no-one visits a cafe´ to order a takeaway peppermint tea.
The idea of ‘‘grabbing a coffee’’ is central to how we do business, hash out problems and neutralise conflict. A jolt of caffeine sparks ideas – and sometimes, flashes of brilliance. It’s also a great way to fill the empty space between meetings and events.
I don’t think I’ll last forever without coffee. Sooner or later, in a weak moment, I’m sure it will lure me back. But for now, I’m really enjoying the benefits of my newfound sobriety. I choose to believe that it’s possible to live and work well, without having caffeine pumping through my bloodstream.
We all have different levels of caffeine sensitivity. If you can knock back five cups after dinner and sleep like a baby, more power to you. If, like Jerry Seinfeld, you use coffee to set the mood for pleasurable conversations with mates, good for you.
But if you find yourself sculling coffee just to get through the day, try living without it. You may find yourself a little less roasted.
And if you see me on the street clutching a takeaway cup, don’t worry – it’ll be a decaf. At least, that’s what I’ll tell you.