☕ Coffee and Quiet with Derek Wolf
What If, We’d Never Been Taught What to Want
Morning light pours through tall café windows and stretches across the tables near the glass. Warm air carries the scent of beans and pastries, swirling gently around the quiet voices threading the room. At a table tucked beside the window, a woman holds a mug with both hands, letting heat travel slowly into her fingers.
Outside, people step through the crosswalk with drinks and phones, the street already moving with purpose. Inside, customers lift their eyes to the glowing menu board as if consulting a guide that tells them who they are for the next hour. The board lists choices, but something about their faces reveals more than flavor preferences. It reveals stories of belonging, image, and expectation.
Near the counter, laughter rises from a pair considering their options. A student in soft morning clothes selects something sweet. A person in pressed business attire chooses a drink built for efficiency. Watching them, a quiet pull forms low in the woman’s chest. Not judgment. Recognition. These choices did not begin here at the counter. They were shaped long before anyone walked through the café door.
If today isn’t the day, remember us when your moment opens.
Buy Me a Coffee
Her gaze shifts from the menu board to the passing expressions. A small tightening grows at the base of her throat. The familiar thought appears. How many wants are born from inner truth, and how many were inherited through praise, culture, or someone else’s comfort. The question lands with a weight her breath feels instantly.
A couple near the register studies houses on a phone screen, whispering lines she knows by heart. Good school district. Strong resale value. Wise choice. Their conversation carries a script they didn’t write. It resembles the one she learned years ago. The recognition brings an ache, not because the couple is misguided, but because she once lived inside that same storyline without noticing its cost.
Memory rises with clarity. A past relationship built on safety and image. Weekend tours through homes staged for impressive futures. His voice spoke about practicality. Her nods came easily, as if agreement might protect the bond. In those rooms, personal desire quieted itself to match expectations. The partnership ended long ago, yet the imprint of self-abandonment still flickers across her chest in moments like this.
Warm porcelain rests beneath her palms, grounding her in the present. That old ache expands into a larger question. If no one had trained me, what would I truly want. The body responds before the mind does. Breath wavers. Shoulders release a fraction. The question feels both strange and familiar, like something held for years without language.
A notebook lies beside the mug. Fingers slide it closer, opening to a blank page that brightens under the morning light. Ink forms a sentence at the top. If nobody had taught me, what would I want. The words look simple, yet something in her posture shifts in quiet response.
A heading appears beneath it. Taught wants. The pen begins to move with more certainty. Approval that keeps peace. Stability others recognize. A version of success that photographs well. Schedules that impress. Roles that earn nods at gatherings. Even small details surface. Outfits chosen to avoid disapproval. Laughter adjusted to match the room. Travel plans shaped to look good in stories.
Tenderness rises as the list grows. None of these wants came from harm. Family tried to protect her. Partners tried to build a shared picture that felt respectable. Friends encouraged choices they believed would keep her steady. And she wanted harmony, so she followed their maps. For years, this felt like care.
The next page feels different the moment she touches it. True wants. The pen pauses often, as if listening for something beneath habit. Mornings that breathe instead of rush. Conversations that make room for emotion, not just plans. Work that allows space for softness at the day’s end. A home lived in rather than displayed. A relationship shaped by honesty instead of performance. Wanting that does not shrink to avoid disappointing someone.
A line writes itself without warning. The freedom to speak truth even when someone may not like it. Heat travels across her sternum, up her neck, and into her jaw. The body recognizes this as the center of the story. For years, wanting required adaptation. The safest path was to desire only what others approved. The cost was subtle at first, then sharp in moments when the heart tried to surface and found no space.
Emotion rises fast enough to surprise her. Not sadness. Something like recognition with a pulse. The kind that arrives when a person stops reshaping themselves for a room and feels how much energy that reshaping requires. Shoulders sink a fraction. Breath deepens. One hand rests against her chest for steadying.
This pulse shifts the morning. Inner insight meets emotional truth. The realization settles in. Wanting has never been the problem. The real wound formed when desire seemed like something that required permission or sacrifice to keep connection steady.
Her eyes drift across the café again. The friend group at the counter cycles through the same debate about pastries. Healthy choice. Deserved treat. Good. Proper. Smart. Reckless. Even small decisions carry years of training. She watches their faces and feels compassion extend outward. Every person in the room shapes themselves in ways they learned before they had words for wanting.
The notebook calls her back. A new heading forms. One honest shift. Instead of altering schedules or routines, her pen writes something more intimate. One desire expressed without shrinking. The phrase carries both courage and relief. Not a life overhaul. Just one truth spoken gently in a moment where she usually folds.
Imagination offers a scene. An evening plan already set by someone else. The familiar habit would be simple. Smile. Agree. Adjust. But another version appears. A voice shaped by honesty rather than fear. “I’d like something different tonight.” No justification. No overexplaining. Just truth offered with steady presence. The possibility brings warmth behind her ribs, a sense of dignity returning quietly to its place.
Her hand closes around the notebook, thumb brushing the edge. What happened in this café is not dramatic. It is deeper. Something long misunderstood becomes visible. Wanting is not selfishness. Wanting is communication. Without it, relationships rely on performance. With it, connection grows honest enough to breathe.
Standing, she places the notebook in her bag. The room looks the same. Morning light still stretches across tables. Cups still clink. People still choose drinks as if selecting identities. Yet something inside her feels rearranged. For the first time in a long time, desire feels like a voice she can honor rather than a script she must follow.
Stepping outside, cooler air brushes her face. The day ahead will still include roles, plans, and expectations. But one truth accompanies her now. Wanting from within does not threaten connection. It strengthens it. It invites intimacy. It invites honesty. And it invites her back into her own life.
The Truth Beneath
Life teaches desire through approval, tradition, culture, and fear. Over time, those lessons cling to the heart as if they belong there. Yet beneath every trained want lives a quieter truth, waiting with patience. When you allow yourself to name what rises from within, relationships become more real, boundaries become kinder, and your life begins to feel like your own. Each gentle moment of honest wanting becomes a step back into yourself and a step toward the connection you always hoped to find.
Stories written in the quiet hours.
Derek Wolf.
“The Truth Beneath”
What If, We’d Never Been Taught What to Want
Morning light pours through tall café windows and stretches across the tables near the glass. Warm air carries the scent of beans and pastries, swirling gently around the quiet voices threading the room. At a table tucked beside the window, a woman holds a mug with both hands, letting heat travel slowly into her fingers.
Outside, people step through the crosswalk with drinks and phones, the street already moving with purpose. Inside, customers lift their eyes to the glowing menu board as if consulting a guide that tells them who they are for the next hour. The board lists choices, but something about their faces reveals more than flavor preferences. It reveals stories of belonging, image, and expectation.
Near the counter, laughter rises from a pair considering their options. A student in soft morning clothes selects something sweet. A person in pressed business attire chooses a drink built for efficiency. Watching them, a quiet pull forms low in the woman’s chest. Not judgment. Recognition. These choices did not begin here at the counter. They were shaped long before anyone walked through the café door.
If today isn’t the day, remember us when your moment opens.
Buy Me a Coffee
Her gaze shifts from the menu board to the passing expressions. A small tightening grows at the base of her throat. The familiar thought appears. How many wants are born from inner truth, and how many were inherited through praise, culture, or someone else’s comfort. The question lands with a weight her breath feels instantly.
A couple near the register studies houses on a phone screen, whispering lines she knows by heart. Good school district. Strong resale value. Wise choice. Their conversation carries a script they didn’t write. It resembles the one she learned years ago. The recognition brings an ache, not because the couple is misguided, but because she once lived inside that same storyline without noticing its cost.
Memory rises with clarity. A past relationship built on safety and image. Weekend tours through homes staged for impressive futures. His voice spoke about practicality. Her nods came easily, as if agreement might protect the bond. In those rooms, personal desire quieted itself to match expectations. The partnership ended long ago, yet the imprint of self-abandonment still flickers across her chest in moments like this.
Warm porcelain rests beneath her palms, grounding her in the present. That old ache expands into a larger question. If no one had trained me, what would I truly want. The body responds before the mind does. Breath wavers. Shoulders release a fraction. The question feels both strange and familiar, like something held for years without language.
A notebook lies beside the mug. Fingers slide it closer, opening to a blank page that brightens under the morning light. Ink forms a sentence at the top. If nobody had taught me, what would I want. The words look simple, yet something in her posture shifts in quiet response.
A heading appears beneath it. Taught wants. The pen begins to move with more certainty. Approval that keeps peace. Stability others recognize. A version of success that photographs well. Schedules that impress. Roles that earn nods at gatherings. Even small details surface. Outfits chosen to avoid disapproval. Laughter adjusted to match the room. Travel plans shaped to look good in stories.
Tenderness rises as the list grows. None of these wants came from harm. Family tried to protect her. Partners tried to build a shared picture that felt respectable. Friends encouraged choices they believed would keep her steady. And she wanted harmony, so she followed their maps. For years, this felt like care.
The next page feels different the moment she touches it. True wants. The pen pauses often, as if listening for something beneath habit. Mornings that breathe instead of rush. Conversations that make room for emotion, not just plans. Work that allows space for softness at the day’s end. A home lived in rather than displayed. A relationship shaped by honesty instead of performance. Wanting that does not shrink to avoid disappointing someone.
A line writes itself without warning. The freedom to speak truth even when someone may not like it. Heat travels across her sternum, up her neck, and into her jaw. The body recognizes this as the center of the story. For years, wanting required adaptation. The safest path was to desire only what others approved. The cost was subtle at first, then sharp in moments when the heart tried to surface and found no space.
Emotion rises fast enough to surprise her. Not sadness. Something like recognition with a pulse. The kind that arrives when a person stops reshaping themselves for a room and feels how much energy that reshaping requires. Shoulders sink a fraction. Breath deepens. One hand rests against her chest for steadying.
This pulse shifts the morning. Inner insight meets emotional truth. The realization settles in. Wanting has never been the problem. The real wound formed when desire seemed like something that required permission or sacrifice to keep connection steady.
Her eyes drift across the café again. The friend group at the counter cycles through the same debate about pastries. Healthy choice. Deserved treat. Good. Proper. Smart. Reckless. Even small decisions carry years of training. She watches their faces and feels compassion extend outward. Every person in the room shapes themselves in ways they learned before they had words for wanting.
The notebook calls her back. A new heading forms. One honest shift. Instead of altering schedules or routines, her pen writes something more intimate. One desire expressed without shrinking. The phrase carries both courage and relief. Not a life overhaul. Just one truth spoken gently in a moment where she usually folds.
Imagination offers a scene. An evening plan already set by someone else. The familiar habit would be simple. Smile. Agree. Adjust. But another version appears. A voice shaped by honesty rather than fear. “I’d like something different tonight.” No justification. No overexplaining. Just truth offered with steady presence. The possibility brings warmth behind her ribs, a sense of dignity returning quietly to its place.
Her hand closes around the notebook, thumb brushing the edge. What happened in this café is not dramatic. It is deeper. Something long misunderstood becomes visible. Wanting is not selfishness. Wanting is communication. Without it, relationships rely on performance. With it, connection grows honest enough to breathe.
Standing, she places the notebook in her bag. The room looks the same. Morning light still stretches across tables. Cups still clink. People still choose drinks as if selecting identities. Yet something inside her feels rearranged. For the first time in a long time, desire feels like a voice she can honor rather than a script she must follow.
Stepping outside, cooler air brushes her face. The day ahead will still include roles, plans, and expectations. But one truth accompanies her now. Wanting from within does not threaten connection. It strengthens it. It invites intimacy. It invites honesty. And it invites her back into her own life.
The Truth Beneath
Life teaches desire through approval, tradition, culture, and fear. Over time, those lessons cling to the heart as if they belong there. Yet beneath every trained want lives a quieter truth, waiting with patience. When you allow yourself to name what rises from within, relationships become more real, boundaries become kinder, and your life begins to feel like your own. Each gentle moment of honest wanting becomes a step back into yourself and a step toward the connection you always hoped to find.
Stories written in the quiet hours.
Derek Wolf.
“The Truth Beneath”
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