Maya had set aside this Saturday morning to think — and to feel. Something wonderful had shifted in her life over the past few months, and she wanted to find the words for it, to understand what had really changed.
The café was quiet. A few early regulars sat scattered among the tables, morning light just beginning to warm the windows. The woman with the stack of books sat by her usual window. Their eyes met as Maya settled into a corner table. They exchanged warm smiles.
"Maya!" Anna's voice carried softly from behind the counter. "You're never here Saturdays — especially not this early."
Maya approached, smiling. "Needed some quiet time to think about something."
"Perfect timing." Anna's eyes lit up. "I've been working on a new latte art pour that I'm excited to show you!"
"I'm excited to see it!" Maya reached for the credit card she stored on the back of her phone.
When Anna saw this she waved her hand. "I'll bring it out to you, go and get started on that thinking."
Maya felt a warmth that had nothing to do with coffee. These small kindnesses were part of what she'd been wanting to understand.
Back at her table, Maya pulled out a fresh notebook. There were few things she liked more than a blank piece of paper. It felt so ripe with possibility.
A few minutes later, Anna appeared, setting down a latte adorned with an intricate swan, its neck curved gracefully through the foam.
After Anna returned to the counter, Maya looked at her notebook. She needed somewhere to start... maybe with what she'd been noticing?
different kinds of days, different kinds of “windows”
some days everything flows
other days feel like I’m trying… forcing
She paused, sipped her latte. Those windows, as she'd started thinking of them — when kindness and capability just flowed naturally. What makes the difference?
trying to be good… to be great ⟶ tension/effort
ease/flow ⟶ listening to myself/the moment
She drew a line under these pairs, then stared out the window, wondering what causes the listening? What lets that happen? A customer was holding the door for another, both laughing about something. Her pen moved again:
moments of natural connection
connection creating that ease… safety? trust?
self trust… self attention
not trying to be better
just being with what's here — in my body, in Reality
She stopped, took another sip of latte. Okay… Now what prevents the listening? She started drawing arrows between ideas:
trying to be good… to be great ⟶ disconnected from self?
trying to be something, focused on that something, not with what is
not with what is ⟶ can't hear signals, not feeling what the moment wants
signals [circled]
She paused here. Feeling signals… all emotions are signals connected to something, some circumstance, some situation — past or present. They’re information, a guidance system. They give feedback on what helps her relax, and what doesn’t. They give feedback on what is connecting, and what isn’t.
emotions help me know what I need, and what I want
She wrote slowly.
and when I get what I need, when I let myself do what I want — what would actually feel good —
everything flows, kindness happens, I’m enough for the moment
Something was emerging here. Her pen hovered over the page as she felt into it. When she wasn't trying to be better, when she was just listening to her signals and moving toward what she needed, what she wanted... that's when those windows opened. Not because she'd become better, but because…
She glanced up and caught Eleanor's eye. There was something about Eleanor's presence that embodied what Maya was trying to understand — that peaceful attention, that natural way of being.
Should I share this? The thought came with a flutter of vulnerability.
Don't be weird, another voice in her head cautioned. She's probably just trying to read. Maybe you're just seeing what you want to see.
Maya sat with this, allowing the cautionary voice its space, feeling its care and desire to keep her safe. As she allowed the fear, she felt it start to disperse.
There was something true here — a resonance she'd felt in those exchanged smiles, a sense of recognition that went beyond wishful thinking.
But the protective voice returned, What if she thinks you're crazy for interpreting months of silent smiles as some kind of connection?
Maya felt another pang of fear with the thought, again feeling its desire to keep her safe. A few months ago, it might have stopped her. Now she could feel the fear and let it protect her without controlling her, which allowed the underlying desire to emerge. A curiosity. A genuine desire to understand, to connect. She wanted this connection. If I'm wrong… she thought. Then I'd learn. And that's okay too.
Her heart beating a little faster, Maya gathered her notebook and coffee, and approached Eleanor's table.
"Excuse me," Maya said softly. Eleanor looked up from her book, her expression warm and inviting. "I... I don't know quite how to say this, but I've been trying to understand something that's changed for me these past few months, and..." Maya paused, saying what wanted to be said, what was true, even if it sounded a bit strange. "Something about your presence makes me think you might understand."
Eleanor paused for a moment, then closed her book and gestured to the chair across from her. "Would you like to sit?"
Maya settled into the chair, her notebook open to the page filled with scattered phrases, arrows, and circles. Eleanor's eyes fell on the words, but she waited for Maya to speak.
"I've been noticing these... windows," Maya began. "Times when everything flows naturally. At first I thought I needed to figure out how to make them happen more often, but..." She gestured to her notes. "I'm starting to see something different."
"May I?" Eleanor asked, indicating the notebook. When Maya nodded, she studied the page. "What do you feel when you look at this line — 'trying to be good... to be great'?"
Maya closed her eyes, letting herself feel into it. "Tightness... pressure. Like I'm trying to force myself toward some ideal." She opened her eyes.
Eleanor nodded. "And this one?" She pointed to 'listening to myself/the moment.'
Maya felt into that, too. "More... open. Spacious." She paused, finding the words. "Like I'm not trying to be anywhere else."
"What's the difference between these two experiences?" Eleanor asked.
"In the first one, I'm focused on some future version of myself. But in the second..." Maya closed her eyes again. "I'm just here with what's actually happening. It’s like, if I focus too much on some idealized self or idealized future I’m not in tune with who I am now or where I am now… is this making any sense?”
Eleanor nodded gently. "When you're just here, with what's happening... what do you notice?"
"It's like... everything gets quieter… no, not quieter, simpler? Maybe simpler. And in that simplicity, the plainness or uncomplicatedness, the emotions or feelings become information, signals..." She rested her hand on her chest. "They're not problems to fix or things to overcome. They exist for a reason, to tell me something."
Eleanor nodded softly. "And what are they telling you right now?"
Maya stayed with the feeling in her chest. "There's an excitement, but also... vulnerability? When I feel afraid, it's because something in this moment has triggered my system… formed over time from my past experiences… to want to protect me. When I feel drawn to help someone, it's because my body recognizes the value of connection. It's all so..." She shook her head in wonder. "It's all so perfectly rational."
"Rational?" Eleanor echoed softly.
"Yes! Every emotion is just... my system making sense of right now, using everything it's learned before." Maya's voice filled with quiet amazement. "Which means..."
She stopped, struck by the magnitude of what she was seeing. Eleanor waited, her presence steady.
"Which means I've always been enough," Maya said softly. "My system has always been working perfectly — not broken, not wrong — just trying to help me understand what matters, what I want, what feels good to me — and to act to create what I want… given the circumstances." Tears pricked at her eyes, not from sadness but from the simple relief of recognition. "And if that's true for me..."
"Yes?" Eleanor's voice was gentle.
"Then it's true for everyone." Maya's voice filled with quiet wonder. "Everyone's responses make perfect sense given their experiences. We're all just... processing what's happening based on everything we've lived through. It's not about becoming better or fixing ourselves. We're not broken. We've never been broken. Conditioned, maybe, but that conditioning was just our body evolving to navigate its environment, like a species evolves as its environment changes."
Eleanor smiled, letting Maya sit with this for a moment before she offered, "What about when different signals seem to conflict?"
“Like when I felt drawn to come talk to you, but also afraid..." Finding the words carefully, "There was this clear sense that something important might happen if I approached you. And at the same time, this protective voice saying 'don't bother her.'" She touched her chest again. "And given everything... given all my experiences..." Her voice softened with recognition. "They both make perfect sense. The caution, the desire to connect — they're both my system trying to help me navigate what matters." She glanced at her notebook, then back at Eleanor. "It's like... all these signals, even when they seem to conflict, they're creating this... this complete picture. Not of who I should be, but of what matters to me right now, in this moment."
Eleanor took a breath, then asked softly, "Would you like to stay and write for a while?”
Maya felt a smile spread across her face — not from any particular thought, but from the simple rightness of the invitation. She turned to a fresh page in her notebook, experiencing its blankness differently now. Not as a space to figure something out, but as a place to let truth continue emerging. "You know what's strange?" She looked up at Eleanor. "No one else can feel these signals for me. They can guess, or try to understand, but..." She touched her chest again. "Only I can feel exactly how this fear and this desire to connect combine. Only I can sense what they're really asking for… And if that's true, if no one else can actually feel what I feel or know what I know... then in a way, my inner world is… mine to govern," Maya said softly. "Not to control — I can't control what I feel. But to listen to, to understand, to move with..."
Eleanor sat back slightly.
"It's like… Everyone else is seeing my life from the outside. They might have good ideas or insights, but they can't actually feel what resonates as true for me. Only I can feel which path feels alive, which choice creates more ease, which action aligns with what matters most."
"What does that make possible?" Eleanor asked softly.
"I can create a life that actually feels good to live."
Eleanor's eyes held steady warmth. "How does that connect to those windows you noticed — those times when everything flowed naturally?"
Maya touched her chest again. "Those windows weren't random moments of being good enough. They were showing me what's possible when I trust my own knowing." Through the café window, she watched a leaf spiral down in the strengthening morning light. "When I listen to my signals, when I let them guide me toward what actually feels good..." She smiled as Anna appeared at a nearby table, setting down another carefully crafted latte with natural attention. "That's when those windows open. Not because I've become better, but because I'm finally trusting my system's intelligence."
"And what about everyone else's windows?" Eleanor asked softly.
Maya watched as the customer at the nearby table noticed the design in their latte, their face lighting up at Anna's artistry. "Everyone has their own signals, their own knowing. We're all..." She paused, finding the words. "We're all sovereign in our own experience. No one else can feel for us what paths feel alive, what choices create ease, what actions align with what matters most to us. No one else can feel how these signals weave together for me. No one else can know exactly what they're pointing toward." She glanced at her notebook. "Understanding that my emotions were already working perfectly... that's what let me trust my own authority. Not to control life, but to create one that feels genuinely good to live."
Through the window, the morning light had strengthened, warming the pages before her. Maya felt something settle — not an ending, but a beginning.