☕ Coffee and Quiet with Derek Wolf
The Cost of Avoiding a Choice
The airport security line moves in uneven waves. Shoes squeak across the tile. Bins slide along metal rollers in slow clattering bursts. A belt hums beneath the weight of backpacks and coats. Every few minutes a loud beep breaks the rhythm, followed by a familiar announcement delivered in a clear, steady voice. Laptops out. Shoes off. Pockets empty.
A metallic gate change repeats overhead. A family struggles with a stroller near the ropes. A toddler cries while juice spreads across the floor in a thin orange trail. Fluorescent lights buzz in the background with a low vibration that presses against the nerves. The scent of coffee mixes with disinfectant in a way that makes the air feel heavy. The whole space moves even when people stand still.
Two people stand between her and the conveyor belt. Her carry on rests against her leg with the strap looped through her hand. The woven edge leaves a faint red line across her palm. She studies the instruction sign again, the same sign she has read three times already. The person ahead steps forward without pause. The person behind shifts and releases a quiet sigh. Her feet remain planted.
If today isn’t the day, remember us when your moment opens.
Buy Me a Coffee
The line nudges her forward. Heartbeat rises with the oversized clock above the lane. The moment to act grows heavier each time the line inches forward. Her hand lifts toward the zipper of her bag but does not open it. Laptop now or later. Shoes untied early or untied while others wait. Each option feels larger than it should. The pressure has nothing to do with the airport. It lives inside her.
She shifts her weight. Fingers tap the strap. Her phone screen lights up from habit, not purpose. Eyes scan the people around her. They move through each step with quiet certainty. Her breath stays shallow. Her body reads hesitation as danger even when nothing threatens her. She can feel the familiar loop forming. A loop she knows by heart.
She has felt it in her kitchen when dishes gathered in the sink until the simple task became too large. She has felt it at work while unread emails stacked quietly in her inbox. She has felt it at home with envelopes she placed carefully on the counter and avoided opening. Avoidance always arrived dressed as a small pause. That pause always grew. The cost followed longer than the task ever would.
The line pulls forward again. Her bin bumps her leg. She steps into the space because she can no longer stay still. She opens the zipper and places her laptop in the bin. The action is small. Inside she feels something shift. A hint of relief woven through the tension. A reminder that movement often calms what hesitation magnifies.
Shoes next. The laces are loosely tied. She should have untied them earlier. Her fingers move slowly, clumsy from the pressure she created herself. The person behind her moves closer. The sound of their bag sliding along the floor tightens her shoulders. A familiar voice rises inside. Move faster. Do not slow anyone down. She unties the first lace with more force than needed. The second follows. She steps out of her shoes and arranges them beside the laptop.
Breath releases through her chest. Not steady. Not calm. But honest. The conveyor belt accepts her bin. A soft hum pulls it away. That movement shows something she had been missing. She waited for calm before acting. Action created the calm. A truth she feels in the way her shoulders begin to settle.
She walks through the metal detector and waits for her items. A pause forms. This pause does not feel sharp. It feels earned. Her bag appears. Her shoes land beside it. She carries them to the small bench and sits down.
As she ties the first lace she feels the echo of the tension she carried. The body remembers every moment she has stepped away from herself. The softened reply that hid the real answer. The avoided conversation that shaped the direction of a relationship because she never spoke up. The heavy silence that followed her for days after she chose not to say what mattered. The cost of hesitation lives in these moments, not in the airport line.
Across from her a couple organizes their belongings. Their movements are slow and clear. Items out. Items in. Zippers close. Pockets check. No rush. No hesitation. Their ease feels honest. She watches them and feels something small but real move inside her. A quiet curiosity about what life might feel like with that kind of steadiness.
She ties her second shoe and lifts her bag to her shoulder. The terminal hallway stretches ahead. People rush in both directions. Wheels roll. Announcements echo. The scent of pretzels rises from a kiosk. She moves slowly, letting the truth settle. Avoidance is not a harmless pause. It is a way of stepping out of her own life. The cost is not the task. The cost is the distance created inside herself.
She reaches the escalators. One sign points toward her gate. Another toward a quiet corner lined with chairs facing the windows. Her body leans toward the empty space. She follows that instinct and moves into the open seating area. The room is nearly silent, lit by the last light of evening. A janitor mops a distant aisle in slow, even strokes.
She sits near the window and watches a plane taxi toward the runway. The lights along the wings blink in steady intervals. The engine power grows. The plane moves with purpose. No hesitation. No circling. No second guessing. Takeoff happens when movement meets clarity. She watches the moment the wheels leave the ground and feels something inside her rise with it.
A memory appears without invitation. Last week someone asked what she wanted. She softened her words to keep the peace. The softness felt safe while she spoke it. Later it felt like a weight she carried alone. It was the same pause she lived through today. A pause that pretends to protect the moment but leaves her standing outside herself.
She looks back at the window. Evening deepens. Planes move like slow, bright shapes against the darkening sky. Another truth forms quietly in her chest. Avoidance has shaped her more than any decision she avoided. The airport line showed her what she has been living everywhere else. Fear does not live in the task. Fear lives in the waiting before the task. The moment she steps forward, fear loses its shape.
The announcement for boarding echoes through the terminal. She stands. Adjusts her bag. Breath settles lower than before. Not perfect. But grounded. She steps back into the hallway and walks toward her gate with a steady rhythm. When the line begins to move, she moves with it. This time without hesitation. Her step feels small. It also feels clear.
The Truth Beneath
Avoidance often feels gentle in the moment. A small pause. A quiet delay. A breath held just a little too long. Yet the cost arrives in the spaces between those moments. Tasks grow. Conversations drift. The heart moves farther from its own truth. A woman learns this slowly. She learns it when she watches herself step away from a moment that asked her to step forward.
Clarity begins when she recognizes the pause for what it is. Not comfort. Not safety. A doorway she is meant to walk through. When she moves, even in a small way, the body softens. Breath deepens. The world meets her with steadier ground than the fear suggested.
The cost of avoiding a choice lives in the distance created inside her. When she steps forward she closes that distance. She returns to the moment. She returns to herself.
Stories written in the quiet hours.
Derek Wolf.
“The Truth Beneath”
The Cost of Avoiding a Choice
The airport security line moves in uneven waves. Shoes squeak across the tile. Bins slide along metal rollers in slow clattering bursts. A belt hums beneath the weight of backpacks and coats. Every few minutes a loud beep breaks the rhythm, followed by a familiar announcement delivered in a clear, steady voice. Laptops out. Shoes off. Pockets empty.
A metallic gate change repeats overhead. A family struggles with a stroller near the ropes. A toddler cries while juice spreads across the floor in a thin orange trail. Fluorescent lights buzz in the background with a low vibration that presses against the nerves. The scent of coffee mixes with disinfectant in a way that makes the air feel heavy. The whole space moves even when people stand still.
Two people stand between her and the conveyor belt. Her carry on rests against her leg with the strap looped through her hand. The woven edge leaves a faint red line across her palm. She studies the instruction sign again, the same sign she has read three times already. The person ahead steps forward without pause. The person behind shifts and releases a quiet sigh. Her feet remain planted.
If today isn’t the day, remember us when your moment opens.
Buy Me a Coffee
The line nudges her forward. Heartbeat rises with the oversized clock above the lane. The moment to act grows heavier each time the line inches forward. Her hand lifts toward the zipper of her bag but does not open it. Laptop now or later. Shoes untied early or untied while others wait. Each option feels larger than it should. The pressure has nothing to do with the airport. It lives inside her.
She shifts her weight. Fingers tap the strap. Her phone screen lights up from habit, not purpose. Eyes scan the people around her. They move through each step with quiet certainty. Her breath stays shallow. Her body reads hesitation as danger even when nothing threatens her. She can feel the familiar loop forming. A loop she knows by heart.
She has felt it in her kitchen when dishes gathered in the sink until the simple task became too large. She has felt it at work while unread emails stacked quietly in her inbox. She has felt it at home with envelopes she placed carefully on the counter and avoided opening. Avoidance always arrived dressed as a small pause. That pause always grew. The cost followed longer than the task ever would.
The line pulls forward again. Her bin bumps her leg. She steps into the space because she can no longer stay still. She opens the zipper and places her laptop in the bin. The action is small. Inside she feels something shift. A hint of relief woven through the tension. A reminder that movement often calms what hesitation magnifies.
Shoes next. The laces are loosely tied. She should have untied them earlier. Her fingers move slowly, clumsy from the pressure she created herself. The person behind her moves closer. The sound of their bag sliding along the floor tightens her shoulders. A familiar voice rises inside. Move faster. Do not slow anyone down. She unties the first lace with more force than needed. The second follows. She steps out of her shoes and arranges them beside the laptop.
Breath releases through her chest. Not steady. Not calm. But honest. The conveyor belt accepts her bin. A soft hum pulls it away. That movement shows something she had been missing. She waited for calm before acting. Action created the calm. A truth she feels in the way her shoulders begin to settle.
She walks through the metal detector and waits for her items. A pause forms. This pause does not feel sharp. It feels earned. Her bag appears. Her shoes land beside it. She carries them to the small bench and sits down.
As she ties the first lace she feels the echo of the tension she carried. The body remembers every moment she has stepped away from herself. The softened reply that hid the real answer. The avoided conversation that shaped the direction of a relationship because she never spoke up. The heavy silence that followed her for days after she chose not to say what mattered. The cost of hesitation lives in these moments, not in the airport line.
Across from her a couple organizes their belongings. Their movements are slow and clear. Items out. Items in. Zippers close. Pockets check. No rush. No hesitation. Their ease feels honest. She watches them and feels something small but real move inside her. A quiet curiosity about what life might feel like with that kind of steadiness.
She ties her second shoe and lifts her bag to her shoulder. The terminal hallway stretches ahead. People rush in both directions. Wheels roll. Announcements echo. The scent of pretzels rises from a kiosk. She moves slowly, letting the truth settle. Avoidance is not a harmless pause. It is a way of stepping out of her own life. The cost is not the task. The cost is the distance created inside herself.
She reaches the escalators. One sign points toward her gate. Another toward a quiet corner lined with chairs facing the windows. Her body leans toward the empty space. She follows that instinct and moves into the open seating area. The room is nearly silent, lit by the last light of evening. A janitor mops a distant aisle in slow, even strokes.
She sits near the window and watches a plane taxi toward the runway. The lights along the wings blink in steady intervals. The engine power grows. The plane moves with purpose. No hesitation. No circling. No second guessing. Takeoff happens when movement meets clarity. She watches the moment the wheels leave the ground and feels something inside her rise with it.
A memory appears without invitation. Last week someone asked what she wanted. She softened her words to keep the peace. The softness felt safe while she spoke it. Later it felt like a weight she carried alone. It was the same pause she lived through today. A pause that pretends to protect the moment but leaves her standing outside herself.
She looks back at the window. Evening deepens. Planes move like slow, bright shapes against the darkening sky. Another truth forms quietly in her chest. Avoidance has shaped her more than any decision she avoided. The airport line showed her what she has been living everywhere else. Fear does not live in the task. Fear lives in the waiting before the task. The moment she steps forward, fear loses its shape.
The announcement for boarding echoes through the terminal. She stands. Adjusts her bag. Breath settles lower than before. Not perfect. But grounded. She steps back into the hallway and walks toward her gate with a steady rhythm. When the line begins to move, she moves with it. This time without hesitation. Her step feels small. It also feels clear.
The Truth Beneath
Avoidance often feels gentle in the moment. A small pause. A quiet delay. A breath held just a little too long. Yet the cost arrives in the spaces between those moments. Tasks grow. Conversations drift. The heart moves farther from its own truth. A woman learns this slowly. She learns it when she watches herself step away from a moment that asked her to step forward.
Clarity begins when she recognizes the pause for what it is. Not comfort. Not safety. A doorway she is meant to walk through. When she moves, even in a small way, the body softens. Breath deepens. The world meets her with steadier ground than the fear suggested.
The cost of avoiding a choice lives in the distance created inside her. When she steps forward she closes that distance. She returns to the moment. She returns to herself.
Stories written in the quiet hours.
Derek Wolf.
“The Truth Beneath”
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