It was a drowsy afternoon on a sunny Monday in Rio de Janeiro. I had been working since early morning. I decided to end the workday. Before heading home, I walked through the quiet, tree-lined side streets of Gávea to a café hidden from the city’s bustle. It operated on the ground floor of an old mansion in the neighbourhood. There was no sign or banner on the façade. The open gate and the lights on indicated that it was open to the public. Despite the complete lack of publicity, the tables were almost always occupied. When it wasn’t raining, it was possible to sit at one of the tables in the pleasant garden at the back. Among flower beds, one could settle beneath a lush, centuries-old mango tree. I liked to stay in the indoor hall. With walls filled with shelves of books published by independent presses, some nearly impossible to find in traditional bookstores, the space was sublimated by classic jazz, blues, or bossa nova, played softly, serving as inspiration for reflection and without the need to raise one’s voice to strike up a good conversation. At least once a week I stopped by. I already recognized some regulars by sight and had struck up a friendship with Bárbara, the barista responsible for the establishment, which undoubtedly served the best coffee in the city.
Of medium height, her arms were completely illustrated with beautiful designs immortalized by tattoos on fair skin. Her hair was kept cropped close at the nape, displaying seasonal colours that alternated from blue to red, from the deep black of ebony to various shades of blonde, depending on her mood that day. The thin gold hoops in her ears, combined with the worn leather apron once used by her father for many years while he was a worker at a famous, though now defunct, factory in Vila Isabel, gave Bárbara a beautiful, exotic, and singular appearance. I used to tease her, saying she looked like a character escaped from some unpublished manga. She laughed. She said that to know her stories one had to understand that enchanted café. What fascinated about the barista, more than the character or the setting, was her personality, talent, and sensitivity. Graduated in psychology and a lover of psychoanalysis, at a certain point in her professional career she gave up clinical practice and patients without ever abandoning her studies or her passion for the mysteries of the psyche. On the contrary, the pains and pleasures of the soul fascinated her more and more each day. Just as Socrates once taught in the public square, twice a week, in the late afternoon, the barista would climb a small pulpit discreetly installed in one corner of the hall to address, in a concise, clear, and profound way, but without any academicism, a topic that served everyone’s interest. The talks were free and open to all. Even without any publicity, the place overflowed with people. Those who managed to make use of the ideas transformed them into tools for good living, moving through the world and through life with increasing lightness and gentleness.
However, the greatest enchantment manifested itself in another way. Not infrequently, her keen perception led her to interrupt her service, ask permission to sit at the table of someone she sensed needed a few words, much as a lost and frightened traveller needs to understand that there will always be sunny paths available, difficult to see in the stormy and uncertain moments of the journey. Sensitivity and knowledge distilled into precise words hit the target of consciousness within a few minutes. Then Bárbara would stand up and return to preparing coffees. She left the individual alone to metabolize the ideas offered in favour of resolving their own existential difficulties. “We can offer the sandals, but never walk for others,” she explained, outlining the foundations of the method she used. At times, no satisfactory result was achieved; at others, the mechanism proved fantastic and revealing. One important detail: it was the barista who chose the traveller. It was useless to request guidance. “This isn’t an office, it’s a café,” Bárbara would repeat. Still, it was much more than that. I believe there is no other like it on the planet, like this one in Gávea.
That day, I sat at the table near the shelf filled with books about Morserus, the fantastic universe inhabited by anthropomorphic beings created by the brilliant writer MM Schweitzer. With red hair, Bárbara approached, offered me a welcoming smile, and asked if she could bring a double espresso accompanied by a generous slice of corn cake with coconut. It was my usual order. I returned the smile and nodded yes. That was when I saw Elisa come in. I almost didn’t recognize her. A few years earlier, as an architect at a stylish firm, she had been responsible for the renovation project of the residential complex, located in a working-class neighbourhood in the suburbs of Rio, which had been transformed into the headquarters of the publishing house where I worked. Under her command, the houses were modernized and internally connected without altering the historical aspects of the old construction, except for the cheerful and vibrant colours used on the façades. Some roofs received skylights to take advantage of natural lighting. The landscaping was also her responsibility. The result was fantastic. I loved working there. I learned that the project earned her not only much praise but also several other, larger contracts. After that, I never ran into her again.
I remembered her as a beautiful, elegant woman and, what caught my attention most, self-possessed. She showed conviction in her decisions, expressed firmly and calmly, without being shaken by opposing opinions. I even doubted whether it was the same person. Dishevelled hair, dull skin, lifeless eyes. She dressed carelessly. This is not about praising vanity, but about understanding the importance of self-esteem. Elisa seemed only a shadow of that luminous woman who, a few years earlier, radiated joy and enthusiasm. As all the tables were occupied, I invited her to sit with me. Elisa hesitated for a fraction of a second, but accepted. I noticed that behind the counter, the barista was watching her. Asked by the waiter, she said she would join me for the espresso and cake. Before I could say anything, we were surprised by Bárbara, who looked at us gently and asked to sit with us. I let Elisa decide. The architect hesitated again and, once more, consented. I began the conversation by asking whether she was still designing the beautiful projects that so reflected her talent. I explained to the barista that Elisa had the ability to synthesize, in just a few strokes, ideas of extreme creativity. I recalled that the publishing house’s logo, a typewriter drawn with just a few lines, had been a gift from her on that occasion. A rare and precious gift. The architect fell silent for a few moments. With a distant gaze, as if watching a far-off scene, she weighed whether or not to open her heart at that table. The barista’s kind and delicate look broke her last resistance.
said that shortly after the publishing house project, when life seemed to be improving, everything began to collapse. In subsequent projects she suffered severe criticism. No one seemed satisfied with her lines and ideas. One client hissed that he felt like tearing down the newly built building. Another cancelled the contract as soon as the project was presented. Horrible was the adjective used at the end of the meeting. From then on, all her ideas and drawings were constantly questioned in the workplace. She became fearful and insecure. She felt as if the world had begun to observe her through cracked and clouded lenses, unable to find in her the slightest trace of talent. The same talent that, until shortly before, had been abundant. The dismissal did not take long. Days passed. No other firm showed interest in hiring her. She felt as though she were no longer fit to live. She was tired, discouraged, and unhappy. Worse still, she saw no prospect of change on the horizon.
She fell silent when the waiter approached carrying our order. He placed the coffees and cakes on the table. Instead of two, there were three cups and plates. The barista asked the architect: “Why so much abandonment?” Elisa said she did not know why people drifted away from her. Bárbara corrected her: “That’s not the issue. Why did you distance yourself from your own centre of strength and balance?” The architect argued that it was impossible to force the world to accept her. The barista nodded and added: “Only fools throw themselves into that insane fight. Still, I repeat, that’s not the issue”. Elisa confessed that the rejection she had suffered unsettled and weakened her. Bárbara warned her: “No one needs the acceptance of others. For each of us, self-acceptance is enough”. The architect shrugged and claimed that all that remained was to accept that she had been banished from the market for being who she was. The barista reframed the story: “The issue is another. In truth, when will you accept that things can go wrong? The ideal of infallibility is a serious illness of the soul”. She took a sip of coffee and concluded: “Not recognizing one’s own mistakes is what sets the machinery of exclusion in motion. Self-exclusion. Pride and vanity conceal feelings of inferiority. Hence the sense of abandonment. Genuine loneliness does not come from distance from others, but from when we move away from our axis of light. Then we begin to live in a dark night that seems to have no end”.
Elisa said she did not understand where Bárbara was going. The barista explained: “After an excellent piece of work, I wonder whether there weren’t mistakes in the following projects. I say this because criticism came from all sides. Including from those who admired you. If that happened, what remains to be known is how you reacted to them”. The architect looked at the barista with the fury of someone whose soul’s intimacy has been invaded. Bárbara held her gaze serenely, as if offering the bitter medicine indispensable to healing. They were brief moments that seemed to last an eternity. Little by little, fury transmuted into an unconfessed regret. A tear escaped, revealing the suffering repressed in the soul by pride and vanity, by not accepting or not knowing how to deal with one’s own mistakes. Elisa shook her head, took a deep breath, and admitted: “After the applause and praise, I began to behave as if everything I did bore the mark of genius. I made projects to my own taste, without caring about clients who had their own tastes and interests. Without a doubt, I caused a breach of trust with those for whom I provided services. When opposing reactions came, I rejected them with the arrogance of those who believe the world must kneel at their feet”. Calmer now, she savoured a piece of cake, raised her eyebrows as if approving the flavour, took a sip of coffee, and asked: “Is this the manifestation of the feeling of inferiority you referred to earlier?”
The barista nodded yes and clarified: “From a very young age, whether through the education we receive or the cultural conditioning that shapes us, we repress or deny the diversity of feelings and emotions in our inner universe, especially those considered bad or wrong. This does not eliminate them or make them disappear. On the contrary, we allow them to roam free and uncontrolled, influencing our mental constructions in a disorderly way and, consequently, our behaviour. We create mistaken, if not deranged, beliefs that end up depriving us of life’s banquet. They make most experiences have a terribly bitter taste. Without knowing how to deal with our emotions and feelings, we lose control of existence and the reins of destiny. Even if denied or unreflected, the sensation of sailing a rudderless ship on the ocean of uncontrollable events brings a feeling of inferiority before the might of an imponderable and invincible enemy”. The architect remarked on the senselessness of trying to control the uncontrollable. The barista corrected her: “If you want to dominate the events of life, you will lose. If you devote yourself to discovering and conquering yourself, nothing and no one will defeat you”.
Elisa wanted to know more. Bárbara clarified: “I’m referring to the need to know and learn how to deal with all emotions and feelings, without hiding or rejecting those considered ugly or bad. They are inherent to who we are. The problem is not the bitter stimuli of the days, but the inability to respond to them in a healthy way. Despite its immensity and power, it is not the size of the ocean that causes a boat to sink, but the lack of skill to navigate rough waters. We are all helmsmen on the seas of agitated emotions and tormenting feelings”. She tapped her finger on the table to emphasize the following words and concluded: “To hide this sense of inferiority caused by fear, faced with ignorance of who we are and how we function, we believe it possible to hide from storms behind the fogs of pride and vanity. Out of ignorance, we become even more vulnerable. Hence the imbalance and fragility that abandon us to the dark nights of fear”.
Elisa said the conversation came too late. The journey had been interrupted. The shipwreck had already happened. Bárbara warned her: “We educate our feelings or they dominate us. This applies to the fear that enveloped you. After a successful project, the following ones received negative responses. Instead of apologizing, acknowledging, and correcting the mistakes, you chose to commit to the errors as if stubbornness had the power to turn them into successes. The opposing reactions to your behaviour grew. At a certain point, you could no longer withstand the pressure and succumbed. No one destroyed you. It was a process of self-destruction. Insisting on error, using pride and vanity as foundations, is like building a house of sand in the wind”. She took another sip of coffee and continued: “When you noticed that you could no longer sustain yourself with that behaviour, instead of rerouting, you allowed yourself to doubt your own ability. A sad kind of fear that brings fatigue, discouragement, and hopelessness. We lose our taste for life”. She paused before continuing: “Fear convinces us that we won’t be able to overcome difficulties, that we will be devoured by adversity, leaving us only flight. Fear does not explain that, upon closer analysis, we will not be fleeing from problems, but from who we are, giving up the best within us. Abandoning oneself is equivalent to fleeing from truth and, therefore, from reality. An act of immaturity, for it denies responsibility for the inevitable consequences one has caused”. The architect listened attentively, as if those words echoed in her depths.
The barista smiled and went on: “Fear is like a flashlight found in a dark room that points in only one direction, as if nothing else existed around it. Fixing one’s gaze on a small mouse soon turns it into a huge hungry lion about to devour us if we dare to leave where it wants us to stay. Error magnifies the abyss and convinces us that we are incapable of building bridges to cross it. Thus, we move away from our essence and from life’s wonders until nothing remains of who we are”. She looked into Elisa’s eyes with tenderness and whispered: “Like anyone else, you are greater than your greatest fear. React!” The architect asked how she could leave the dark place where she had hidden within herself. The barista was categorical: “Trust yourself. There is no greater power”.
Bárbara made a move to stand up. She needed to return to work. Concise and objective, she had said what needed to be said. Everything else would be commentary on the same theme, I assessed silently. Elisa held the barista’s hand, asking her to stay a few more moments. She admitted that those ideas illuminated fundamental aspects of herself that she had kept in darkness because she did not want to see them. However, once shown, it was no longer possible to deny the evidence. She was willing to face both fear and the mistake of her own misunderstandings. Still, she confessed she did not know how to do it. The barista noted: “Starting over is rebuilding yourself on better and different pillars. It is being born again. Everyone needs to go through this a few times in a single lifetime”. Elisa fell silent for a few moments, as if she needed to pull a secret from the depths of her soul. Then she said she had no desire to return to architecture. She did not want to resume her former routine. There was no enthusiasm in imagining herself doing the same things, regardless of the criticism or praise she might receive. The cycle had ended. Bárbara provoked her: “For someone who has always worked with creation, what difficulty is there in creating a new reality for yourself?” The architect asked her to be clearer. The barista explained: “I’m talking about inventing a different life, one that can hold a new routine and profession. Something you identify with and that gives you pleasure, without falling into the traps of daydreams or illusion. The mind can and should travel to the stars, but the feet need to deepen their roots in the soil of good sense. That is the indispensable balance”.
Bárbara warned her: “Do not wait for ceremonies, an audience, or others’ approval. There will be none. Starting over is an intimate and solitary act, exclusive to a consciousness that has taken back the reins of existence and traced a new route and destiny. It is an intimate gesture of self-love and self-validation, of living the truth to the limit one perceives it, assuming one’s tastes and choices, beliefs and feelings, without depending on the world’s approval. A serene and silent joy. An act of humility and faith in oneself. Etymologically, the word humility derives from humus, fertile earth, apt to germinate seeds not yet cultivated. I refer to new ideas, discoveries, and achievements capable of raising the standard of emotional balance and mental clarity, fundamental to the evolutionary journey. Faith is the force that moves us toward the sacred that inhabits and surrounds us. Trusting one’s own capacity to accomplish and progress is an act of faith”. Elisa looked at her as if to say the theory was excellent, but it lacked practical application. Bárbara identified the longing, smiled, and suggested: “An effective and safe way is to go in search of the gift, a personal talent with which we identify and that nourishes us with joy and pleasure”.
The barista provoked her: “I’ve been watching you for some time. I see you sit under the mango tree in the garden and draw for hours. The sparkle in your eyes at those moments impresses me”. The architect opened her bag and placed on the table a thick stack of paper filled with hand-drawn illustrations. Bárbara’s eyes asked me to examine them. Unhurriedly, I went through the pages one by one. As I advanced, my enchantment grew. They were comic strips, with short stories of at most four panels each. In them, the same character, represented by a girl, dealt with everyday issues, always reacting with devastating and amusing sarcasm to obsolete ways of responding to reality. With singular and discreet humour, the girl proved capable of reinterpreting situations without the shackles of sociocultural conditioning. With grace, she found unexpected beauty behind the incoherences to which we are accustomed in daily life. Without realizing it, the character carried within her the courage Elisa lacked to bring to the surface her hidden and repressed truth. I showed them to the barista. After reading, she curved her lips into a beautiful smile and murmured: “Who is this girl? The world needs to know her”. Elisa smiled shyly. Bárbara added: “It is the silent and profound voice of conscience knocking at the door of existence to carry out the transformation that can no longer wait. An authentic invitation to begin again”. Elisa asked whether she was being encouraged to turn the pastime into a profession. Bárbara clarified: “This is not a mere pastime, but a genuine therapy. The character brings Elisa’s hidden face, which until now was unknown or repressed. Through her, you discover yourself. You come to know your authentic personality. You present yourself, provoke, and make people rethink concepts and behaviours believed to be definitive. Not with long and tedious speeches, but with agility and good humour. The finest biscuit of art. This material, which you consider worthless, will find a voice in countless people who are going through similar processes but have not yet managed to bring their transforming truths up from the depths of the soul”. Then she held Elisa’s hands with affection, kissed her on the face, and stood up to return to work.
Alone with the architect, she asked whether, as an editor, I could help her. I said I would do it out of pleasure and enjoyment. The material was of excellent quality. We published an experimental edition with a very small print run. The launch was held at the Gávea café, on a Monday afternoon, without any special ceremony. Elisa invited no one. In a symbolic act, the cartoonist signed two copies, one for me, the other for Bárbara, between espressos and slices of corn cake with coconut. It was an exclusive moment for Elisa. A reunion, regeneration, and new beginning. I suspect that, deep within the universe, the soul celebrated, filled with jubilation. Nothing more important or meaningful. The few copies took time to sell out. By one of those mysteries of life, one of the books reached the hands of an influential Chilean editor with great reach in Latin America, Europe, and North America, who acquired the publication rights. From there, it went out into the world.
Some time later, I commented with Bárbara about the cartoonist. Elisa had returned to being that beautiful and elegant woman, strong, balanced, and self-possessed. Yet she was not the same woman. The barista reflected: “The most beautiful stories of starting over begin when everything seems to go wrong. In truth, it is life correcting our route so that everything can go right, often in an unexpected way. One just must not give up. Sometimes, provided there are new and better foundations, it is necessary to persist when projects remain valid and real. At other times, it is necessary to reinvent oneself. In all of them, it is necessary to start over”.
Translated by: Cazmilian Zórdic
