☕ Coffee and Quiet with Derek Wolf
The Quiet Courage to Begin Again
The waiting room held a brightness that felt out of place for the hour. Fluorescent lights hummed above the rows of chairs, casting a cool glow across walls that offered no comfort. A small stack of magazines leaned against a chipped end table. The pages had been flipped through by countless hands, each one searching for distraction during moments like this. A muted television scrolled headlines across the screen. The images moved, yet none of them held meaning here.
She sat near the window with her hands folded too tightly in her lap. Rain traced thin, wandering lines down the glass. Each drop caught the light before slipping out of sight. Her breath stayed high in her chest, faint and shallow, as if the air around her were too heavy to pull in. Nothing had happened yet, yet her body braced as if something already had. This was the familiar tension that arrived before uncertainty. The quiet effort of preparing for every possible outcome at once.
A coat rustled on the far side of the room. Someone shifted her seat. A soft cough came from a woman near the door. These small sounds gathered and dissolved like a tide, reminding her that she was not alone in this quiet strain.
If today isn’t the day, remember us when your moment opens.
Buy Me a Coffee
Across from her sat a woman in a rain jacket. Drops clung to the fabric like tiny beads of glass. Her hair had loosened in the damp weather. She held a small tote on her lap, fingers tracing the stitching along the edge in slow, steady circles. There was a tired patience in the way she sat. A kind of waiting that did not try to hide itself.
Their eyes met for only a moment. Not a conversation. Not comparison. Only recognition. Two women balancing more inside their bodies than anyone in the room could see.
Her breath softened by a small degree. She felt it move a little farther downward. Not much, but enough to remind her she still lived in her body, not only in her thoughts. She watched the second hand on the clock continue its patient circles. Time moved with or without her worry. She let her shoulders release by another small measure.
A tissue slipped from the other woman’s tote and drifted toward the floor. The woman leaned forward, but her fingers missed it. Without thinking, the woman by the window reached it first. She handed it back with a steady nod. The woman accepted it with a quiet thank you, her voice soft and sincere.
Something shifted inside her chest. Not relief. A warm thread. A reminder that presence did not need perfection. It needed honesty. The brief exchange softened the room’s edges. It anchored her a little more firmly in the moment she had been trying to outrun.
Minutes passed with no rush. The rain drew faint lines across the window. The fluorescent lights hummed in their steady way. The air tasted a little less tight. She noticed the weight of her feet on the floor. The chair supporting her back. The quiet steadiness beneath the worry that had once filled her entire chest.
When her name was finally called, she rose slowly. Not out of fear. Out of intention. Her legs felt steady beneath her. Her breath held a quiet depth she had not felt earlier. She nodded once more to the woman across the room before stepping into the cooler hallway air.
The hallway lights were dimmer than the waiting room. The shift in brightness felt like a sigh. She walked toward the exit, the soles of her shoes brushing softly against the tile. For the first time that hour, her breath traveled all the way down to her abdomen. The simple act of inhaling felt like a return.
Outside, the rain had thinned to a soft mist. She followed the narrow path along the building, where damp leaves gathered in small clusters. The air tasted clean after the long wait inside. She inhaled fully, letting the breath widen her ribs and loosen the muscles along her back.
A streetlight cast a warm halo across the pavement. A puddle beneath it mirrored the glow. Water dripped from the roof in a slow rhythm, steady and unhurried. She walked with that rhythm, allowing her steps to match the pace of her breath. The tension beneath her ribs loosened by degrees. Her arms felt lighter. Her spine lengthened with each step.
Halfway down the path, she stopped. Not from hesitation. From awareness. Her hand rested lightly over her chest. The steady pulse beneath her palm grounded her more than any reassurance could. The warmth there felt familiar. Solid. Present.
She realized that the courage she needed tonight had not come from knowing what would happen next. It came from the moment she allowed herself to pause long enough to feel her own presence return. The moment she chose to soften instead of brace. The moment her breath remembered its way back into her body.
A soft sound came from behind her. The door of the building opened and closed again as another woman stepped outside, pulling her hood up against the light rain. Their eyes met briefly in the dark. A shared acknowledgment. No words. Just two people stepping into the same night with different stories, yet carrying the same quiet hope that comes from continuing on.
She turned back to the path. The mist touched her cheeks like cool breath. The world felt wider than it had inside the waiting room. Not easier. Not solved. Just wider. Spacious enough to hold whatever the next moment might bring.
As she reached the end of the walkway, she paused one more time. The night air gathered around her. A gentle calm settled through her ribs, deeper than anything she had felt earlier. Beginning again did not require certainty. It only required the willingness to meet herself with honesty, one breath at a time.
She stepped forward, moving into the softness of the evening. The quiet courage within her walked with her now, steady and real, a presence she could return to whenever the old patterns tried to pull her away again.
The Truth Beneath
Beginning again is rarely loud. It often arrives in the smallest shift. A breath that drops a little deeper. A moment of eye contact that reminds you you are not alone. The gentle choice to pause instead of brace. Courage grows inside these pauses. It grows when you return to your body, when you listen inwardly, when you soften long enough for your presence to rise again. Uncertainty does not disappear. It simply meets a steadier part of you. And that steadiness changes everything.
Stories written in the quiet hours.
Derek Wolf.
“The Truth Beneath” Links to add to the bottom of stories
The Quiet Courage to Begin Again
The waiting room held a brightness that felt out of place for the hour. Fluorescent lights hummed above the rows of chairs, casting a cool glow across walls that offered no comfort. A small stack of magazines leaned against a chipped end table. The pages had been flipped through by countless hands, each one searching for distraction during moments like this. A muted television scrolled headlines across the screen. The images moved, yet none of them held meaning here.
She sat near the window with her hands folded too tightly in her lap. Rain traced thin, wandering lines down the glass. Each drop caught the light before slipping out of sight. Her breath stayed high in her chest, faint and shallow, as if the air around her were too heavy to pull in. Nothing had happened yet, yet her body braced as if something already had. This was the familiar tension that arrived before uncertainty. The quiet effort of preparing for every possible outcome at once.
A coat rustled on the far side of the room. Someone shifted her seat. A soft cough came from a woman near the door. These small sounds gathered and dissolved like a tide, reminding her that she was not alone in this quiet strain.
If today isn’t the day, remember us when your moment opens.
Buy Me a Coffee
Across from her sat a woman in a rain jacket. Drops clung to the fabric like tiny beads of glass. Her hair had loosened in the damp weather. She held a small tote on her lap, fingers tracing the stitching along the edge in slow, steady circles. There was a tired patience in the way she sat. A kind of waiting that did not try to hide itself.
Their eyes met for only a moment. Not a conversation. Not comparison. Only recognition. Two women balancing more inside their bodies than anyone in the room could see.
Her breath softened by a small degree. She felt it move a little farther downward. Not much, but enough to remind her she still lived in her body, not only in her thoughts. She watched the second hand on the clock continue its patient circles. Time moved with or without her worry. She let her shoulders release by another small measure.
A tissue slipped from the other woman’s tote and drifted toward the floor. The woman leaned forward, but her fingers missed it. Without thinking, the woman by the window reached it first. She handed it back with a steady nod. The woman accepted it with a quiet thank you, her voice soft and sincere.
Something shifted inside her chest. Not relief. A warm thread. A reminder that presence did not need perfection. It needed honesty. The brief exchange softened the room’s edges. It anchored her a little more firmly in the moment she had been trying to outrun.
Minutes passed with no rush. The rain drew faint lines across the window. The fluorescent lights hummed in their steady way. The air tasted a little less tight. She noticed the weight of her feet on the floor. The chair supporting her back. The quiet steadiness beneath the worry that had once filled her entire chest.
When her name was finally called, she rose slowly. Not out of fear. Out of intention. Her legs felt steady beneath her. Her breath held a quiet depth she had not felt earlier. She nodded once more to the woman across the room before stepping into the cooler hallway air.
The hallway lights were dimmer than the waiting room. The shift in brightness felt like a sigh. She walked toward the exit, the soles of her shoes brushing softly against the tile. For the first time that hour, her breath traveled all the way down to her abdomen. The simple act of inhaling felt like a return.
Outside, the rain had thinned to a soft mist. She followed the narrow path along the building, where damp leaves gathered in small clusters. The air tasted clean after the long wait inside. She inhaled fully, letting the breath widen her ribs and loosen the muscles along her back.
A streetlight cast a warm halo across the pavement. A puddle beneath it mirrored the glow. Water dripped from the roof in a slow rhythm, steady and unhurried. She walked with that rhythm, allowing her steps to match the pace of her breath. The tension beneath her ribs loosened by degrees. Her arms felt lighter. Her spine lengthened with each step.
Halfway down the path, she stopped. Not from hesitation. From awareness. Her hand rested lightly over her chest. The steady pulse beneath her palm grounded her more than any reassurance could. The warmth there felt familiar. Solid. Present.
She realized that the courage she needed tonight had not come from knowing what would happen next. It came from the moment she allowed herself to pause long enough to feel her own presence return. The moment she chose to soften instead of brace. The moment her breath remembered its way back into her body.
A soft sound came from behind her. The door of the building opened and closed again as another woman stepped outside, pulling her hood up against the light rain. Their eyes met briefly in the dark. A shared acknowledgment. No words. Just two people stepping into the same night with different stories, yet carrying the same quiet hope that comes from continuing on.
She turned back to the path. The mist touched her cheeks like cool breath. The world felt wider than it had inside the waiting room. Not easier. Not solved. Just wider. Spacious enough to hold whatever the next moment might bring.
As she reached the end of the walkway, she paused one more time. The night air gathered around her. A gentle calm settled through her ribs, deeper than anything she had felt earlier. Beginning again did not require certainty. It only required the willingness to meet herself with honesty, one breath at a time.
She stepped forward, moving into the softness of the evening. The quiet courage within her walked with her now, steady and real, a presence she could return to whenever the old patterns tried to pull her away again.
The Truth Beneath
Beginning again is rarely loud. It often arrives in the smallest shift. A breath that drops a little deeper. A moment of eye contact that reminds you you are not alone. The gentle choice to pause instead of brace. Courage grows inside these pauses. It grows when you return to your body, when you listen inwardly, when you soften long enough for your presence to rise again. Uncertainty does not disappear. It simply meets a steadier part of you. And that steadiness changes everything.
Stories written in the quiet hours.
Derek Wolf.
“The Truth Beneath” Links to add to the bottom of stories
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