By Asiyah Jilani

We are more than caricatures or characters, faceless dancers or nameless passersby.

London, 18th Century

The sun has only started dipping low, its warmth slowly fading into night’s biting chill, when he starts on his way to the building on Russell Street. The white marble decoration greets him as it has every time he rounds the corner to the entrance. When he strides into the entryway, a few heads turn. Most customers, however, are familiar enough with the sound of his steps to not pay much mind to them.

He heads to the counter and makes his request before turning to scan the premises. Amid the low-hanging decor and gold-framed portraits dancing across the walls huddles a growing group, familiar and new faces alike. When he turns back, he’s handed a mug of coffee, hot and heavy in the clutches of his palm.

He joins the group at the center. The men are gesturing at the topic at hand: a book sprawled across the wooden surface of the table. It’s flipped open to reveal a chapter title and clumps of words for the customers to dissect and discuss.

Many inhabit Button’s Coffee House during these late hours; the overwhelming majority are bound by their passion for literature. Outside, their eccentric ideas are dimmed by rigid work rules. The curious are silenced by those who don’t have time to answer. Here, creativity runs wild. Ego and intellect are unleashed, sparking heated debates and intense conversations.

Joseph Addison spends most of his nights at Button’s. Lately, his pieces have been gaining traction. Most hours in his day are dedicated to perfecting his personal essays. Yet, in these moments, in this candlelit coffee coven, he lets go of his pencil and brings only his voice. Some visitors, like him, are local literary celebrities seeking a place to mingle with like-minded peers. Others are hardly familiar with the craft, drawn to Button’s as it provides an opportunity to step into the literary world.

They don’t know it yet, but their acts of discussing and debating will give way to a force beyond each of them. This trading of insights is building a catalyst for a nationwide movement.

Coffeehouses offered more than a setting to purchase a drink and unwind from the workday. One entered as not just a customer but as a scientist or creative, eccentric or intellect, listener or debater. Discussion stirred so powerfully that King Charles II attempted to ban coffeehouses, fearing they would lead to upheaval against the monarchy. The combining and clashing of varied ideas gave way to newfound solutions, a microcosm of the Enlightenment movement that would take over the nation.

Such a pattern has surfaced often throughout history. In the Song dynasty of China, teahouses sprouted as a way for workers of various occupations to find mutual understanding over a hot drink. In France during the Enlightenment, women created their own social sphere within salons to trade philosophical insights. It’s not the quality of commodities or the charm of decoration that makes these spaces so prized; it’s the act of gathering. The meeting, the mingling, that these places serve as backdrops for.

In various scenes pinpointed throughout time, scattered in crevices of the globe, community spaces have given birth to newfound innovation and solutions.

Austin, 2024

My days are characterized by movement and motion; I jump from purpose to pleasure, activity to excitement. Early mornings on campus are spent seated in a secluded corner of a building, my lounge for the hours until class starts. The second I shove my earbuds in my ear, my world is limited to the soft beats of my study playlist and my cluttered computer screen sporting too many tabs of homework assignments.

Weekends come and the rush of early mornings transforms into the buzz of late-night activity. I dust my eyelids in glitter and call up the same rotation of people to dip into the life of downtown with me. Nights stretch late and I find myself spending hours moving between purposes: catching 20 minutes of music at a party, giggling with my friends in their cars, ducking into late-night corner stores. I exhaust the city of every resource it holds, except for one glaring aspect: the people.

I stop for coffee on Sunday, but it’s for the sole purpose of energizing and recharging before I waltz back into a lifetime of schedule and structure. Every action serves my own interest solely, a method I tell myself is for the best.

When the barista hands me my drink, I take it and sit at the nearest table. I place the drink down too close to another’s belongings, and am met with a glare from the owner: a student typing away at an essay on my left. She gathers her computer and scone into her hands and gets up to move away. I never get to hear her name. I never find out what her essay is about or what inspired it, for it already feels futile to ask. She might have so much to say yet I won’t get to hear a word of it.

It’s a confusing juxtaposition. I exist in a world where communication and information live at my fingertips, yet isolation plagues me more than ever.

I have never shied away from new voices. I spend hours carding through articles or watching video essays for the sake of new takeaways. I love doing deep dives down global poetry forums, sifting through various worldviews. I’ll gladly search far for brilliance — so why do I ignore the potential of those who live next door to me or pass me in the hallway?

My sense of disconnect only exacerbates when Ramadan comes around. Most evenings, I make my way to the mosque only to join in for a few prayers before I grab my belongings and hurry back home. I may pass girls perched on the wooden staircase outside but I don’t stop to think about what they might have to offer me if I only gave them a chance.

Every person I pass by has lived a different life than mine; every person has an insight to offer that I haven’t heard before. So why do I run from the chance to explore them?

The last week of Ramadan is when the annual interfaith Iftar takes place. As the flyers announce, students of any belief system, or lack thereof, are invited to this community dinner at the mosque. By sunset on the day of, I find myself making my way there, but only for the promise of free food and out of obligation to my mom’s requests to try and visit the mosque more.

Yet, when I’m handed the styrofoam box containing my meal, I wonder if there’s any harm in staying a little longer.

I spot a mismatched group lingering at the end of the table, the ones who came without company. They all look as out-of-place as I feel. In a split-second decision, I decide to sit at the last empty chair in their area.

An awkward moment passes. I segue into conversation by asking the strangers what brought them to this event. The girl sitting next to me mentions her interest in learning about different belief systems. She elaborates on her troubled attachment to her faith, and I explain my tumultuous journey with my own. Warmth slides through me at the mutual understanding, and a larger sense of awe stems from her unique story. The others chorus in and soon our conversation is racing at high speeds, twisting through topics. The girl across from me is a geology major who came here for a break from the stress of exams…the one seated to my left wants to find members for her service movement… I speak, I listen, and I learn.

When I head back home, my stomach is satisfied and my mind is rejuvenated. I feel revved up with new fuel and thirsty with curiosity to learn more.

There is always discomfort in immersing ourselves in the unfamiliar. Engaging in discussion with those we’ve never met before means laying our own opinions bare for dissection and debate. But in the same way adventurers find thrill in wandering down unexplored paths, conversations with unfamiliar people offer the exciting discovery of knowledge we’ve never faced before.

Decades ago, coffee houses in London brought forth the opportunity for information exchange and non-traditional learning, factors in the nationwide knowledge explosion known as the Enlightenment. When we disregard community spaces nowadays, we lose out on this opportunity for ideas to run free and intertwine, forming the basis for revolution, for collective change, for progress and power.

We are more than caricatures or characters, faceless dancers or nameless passersby. We are the innovators of today: the scientists and creatives, eccentrics and intellects, listeners and debaters. Treasure troves of inspiration still remain tucked into every corner of our cities, housed in the minds of everyone who resides within. It’s time to go out and discover them. ■