On a quiet, tree-lined street in Gávea, with no sign or nameplate on the façade, stands Bárbara’s coffee shop. It is not a place of meetings, but of discoveries. In an old house, its walls covered with books and embraced by the gentle sound of blues, jazz, or bossa nova, one can enjoy the finest frappés, cappuccinos, and espressos in the city. The barista is a woman of enchanting and singular personality. Some years ago, she decided to forge an original path: she closed her psychoanalysis practice to open the café. Yet she never abandoned the mysteries of the psyche. Two days a week, without prior notice, at the end of the afternoon, Bárbara climbs onto a small lectern to speak about the sorrows and joys of the soul, free of academic jargon, but with the depth required for the subject to become a tool for living well. The house overflows with people. At times, at any hour of the day, her keen sensitivity prompts her to excuse herself and sit at the table of someone who needs to go where they have never before dared to be within themselves. There is no use asking for advice or requesting consultations. “This is not a therapist’s office. It’s a coffee shop,” the young barista warns. In truth, it is much more than that.
That day, as usual, there was not a single table available. I took the opportunity to settle into the pleasant inner garden of the house, in one of the armchairs facing a comfortable sofa, beneath the broad canopy of a centuries-old mango tree. Perfect for me, since I had planned to end the afternoon immersed in the fantastic universe made possible by literary novels. I ordered a double espresso, took my book from my backpack, and returned to the pages that narrated the adventure of a woman who abandoned a solid social structure, full of stability and security, yet devoid of any evolutionary purpose, in order to live experiences that offered her existential meaning. Driven by a passion without guarantees and destructive in nature, yet one that made her feel alive, she experienced days alternating between immense joy and intense agony. It was an overwhelming and contradictory feeling, filled with ambiguities, nuances, and layers, making it difficult to understand. Was she a strong woman, drawn to the intensity of risk, willing to steer the helm of her own life rather than remain at the mercy of other people’s tastes and whims, or was she a lost and tormented soul searching for something that even she could not define? It was a fascinating read. I resumed the journey from where I had left off, traveling through the landscapes and roads proposed by the author, when I was interrupted by a woman whose features were as beautiful as those described in the novel. Distracted as usual, I had not noticed her. She was seated in the armchair beside me.
Although she was no longer as young as the novel’s protagonist, she retained the freshness of youth despite the many decades that had passed. Her beauty did not come from her skin, already lined and marked by time. It came from the gaze typical of those who reject empty lives. She possessed the same thirst for life as the character in the book. She radiated the desire to deepen experiences and emotions, something impossible for those unwilling to take risks. There are no achievements without risks, the phrase she often repeated was not a passing idea, but a personal mantra. Liz had been like that ever since I met her in college. Forty years had passed. We had both changed considerably. Our bodies and souls were no longer the same. Much had been transformed. What had not changed was the light in her eyes.
Given her overwhelming personality, back then we used to say that Liz was like a locomotive, capable of carrying many people along with her. And that was exactly what she did. Certain that she would have many stories to tell, I put the book back into my backpack and changed my plans for the afternoon. I wanted to listen to that fascinating woman. Liz told me about travels and romances, meetings and farewells, adventures and misadventures. Exotic places and interesting people, absurd and amusing situations. Intense emotions invested in fragile relationships; stable relationships in lives devoid of feeling. She spoke of gains and losses, prisons and escapes. Smiles and disappointments, embraces and abandonments. As she recounted the events and episodes she had lived through, without realizing it, the narrative led her into her own heart. Little by little, the light in her eyes faded, giving way to a heartfelt tear. She confessed that she was living through a period of profound sadness. A sadness so immense that she had believed it existed only in works of fiction.
It was at that moment that the barista approached and asked if she could join the conversation. Since Liz did not know her, she questioned me with her eyes. I nodded in agreement. Bárbara then pulled up a chair, forming a triangle with the armchairs where we were seated. Next, she gently touched the arm of the woman whose luminous eyes were now filled with sadness, asking her to continue from where she had left off.
Liz reminded me of our college days. Even back then, when we were still very young, she used to say that she would never marry. Her parents had died in an accident shortly before the course began. Inácio, her only brother, ten years older than she was, a mature and hardworking young man, took over the family business and allowed the young woman to live life as though tomorrow were merely a detail of little concern. Referring to her brother, she used to say that she had already been born with the man of her life by her side. She needed no other. Therefore, she would never marry. Inácio was her support and her refuge. And so it remained for four decades. She travelled extensively around the world, dated with the same intensity and passion. She loved both men and women, made friendships as though she knew there would always be other puddles to splash in after the rain. Throughout that period, she visited the company’s headquarters only to sign documents she never even read. Her trust in her brother was absolute. She never had any reason to doubt him. There was always more money in her bank account than she could possibly spend. Nevertheless, she spent it without guilt or concern. She felt free and happy.
Life, however, has its twists. Everything changes, almost never with the courtesy of asking permission before imposing life’s bitter reverse upon the sweet reality that had previously been allowed. Tired and ill, her brother decided to retire, handing control of the company over to his son. Liz approved the transition. It seemed like a natural process that required no special concern. She was Igor’s godmother. The nephew she had once carried in her arms as a little boy was now sitting in Inácio’s chair. New documents were signed, different powers were granted. A few months later, she was startled when her bank manager contacted her. Her monthly income had dropped to little more than one fifth of the amount that had been routinely deposited. Her account balance was in the negative, something that had never happened before. When she sought out Igor to understand what was going on, she was met with disdain. Her nephew mocked the irresponsible life his aunt had led for so long. It was time for her to come to her senses. Unlike his father, he would not work to finance his aunt’s extravagances. The new investments the company required, before resorting to bank loans, would be drawn from the shareholders’ dividends, with the greatest burden falling on those who had never worked. In this case, Liz. She turned to her brother in the vain hope that Inácio could persuade his son to abandon the idea that would alter her way of life so brutally and cruelly. Her brother explained that Igor, now president of the company, had full autonomy to determine its direction, especially in an increasingly competitive market. There was nothing he could do. Nor did he wish to. He had prepared his son for this moment over many years. Igor had his complete confidence. The decision had been made, documented, and was irreversible.
These events had taken place nearly two years earlier. Liz did not want to be seen as a frivolous woman. Without question, she had spent a great deal of money over the decades. But it was her money. Although she was far from facing material hardship, she was forced to change her standard and style of living drastically. She had to deal with budgeting, learn moderation, and choose her expenses carefully. That would not have been a problem for Liz if the same financial restraint had applied to Inácio and his son. Neither Igor’s salary nor the dividends distributed to his father under the new guidelines would be reduced. One because he had spent forty years leading the company, the other because he now bore the responsibility of guiding it into the future. She understood the measure’s element of fairness, yet she felt saddened and disappointed for not having been warned beforehand, when she could still have made a different choice. She believed she would be supported and protected by her family. She was mistaken. There had been a lack of consideration, affection, and respect. They denied her the right to choose. She felt deceived and betrayed by those she had loved the most.
Gently, Bárbara brushed away the tear resting on Liz’s face with her fingertip. Then she asked, “What do you intend to do for yourself in the face of these events? If you do not react quickly and appropriately, you will become ill”. The beautiful woman replied that she needed to forgive. She wanted to free herself from the corrosive feeling that constantly brought the situation back to her mind. She longed to live again with the same intensity as before. She pointed out that intensity was not a matter of money, but of taste. The barista welcomed her resolution with an approving smile. Although Liz understood the necessity of that essential step, she admitted that, no matter how much she wanted to forgive, she simply could not. There were days when she even believed she had made progress, only for some event or even an unexpected thought to arise in the very next moment, poisoning her heart once more. She did not know whether it was hatred or resentment. Bárbara explained that they were the same feeling: “Hatred is rejection, aversion, or anger in its vaporous state. Resentment is hatred solidified by age, after being kept inside us for a long time”.
Liz wanted to understand why she found it so difficult to forgive. The barista reflected, “Profoundly disappointing events rarely allow forgiveness to come immediately or within a short period of time. It is a process, a sequence of inner movements capable of untying the knots of rigid thinking and feeling that generate so many misunderstandings. Forgiveness has many nuances and layers. Although the act was committed by someone else, we move forward only to the exact extent that we come to understand more deeply who we are and, in doing so, understand how the event wounded us so profoundly that it left us emotionally in ruins. This understanding is essential, because only then are we ready to begin an existential reconstruction founded upon different and better principles. No one is able to forgive without moving from where they stand. Forgiveness has nothing to do with the other person. It is a gentle and silent journey, full of advances and retreats, along the sacred route between the mind and the heart, capable of leading one to truth, a place unknown to the crowds, a city the wise call peace. There is no greater wealth or power”.
Liz asked her to explain further. The barista clarified, “Every case has its own particularities. You structured your life with Inácio and your family as your pillars and your fortress. When they were no longer there for you, or turned their backs on you, your world collapsed. This happens whenever the foundations of one’s existence are placed outside oneself rather than within. That is what people call chaos. Once the storm has passed, what keeps a person standing are the inner structures built through the hardships of life: the virtues acquired and the truths attained; mental clarity, emotional balance, and steadfastness in one’s actions. Chaos exists to sweep away every disguise, performance, and mirage. If the foundations are not solid and deep, nothing will remain”. Liz wanted to know more about these so-called foundations. Bárbara replied, “A foundation is the traveller’s baggage. It is not what the traveller possesses, but everything that lifts them up and enables them to move forward. It is the core that sustains, strengthens, harmonizes, legitimizes, and provides meaning and direction. The way a person deals with the world is merely a reflection of the inner journey they have already travelled and overcome, even if no one else understands or approves”.
The beautiful woman returned to the question that tormented her. No matter how hard she tried, she could not forgive. Since forgiveness was a process, she needed to understand how it worked. Bárbara explained, “The initial movement is the firm and sincere decision to forgive”. Liz interrupted to point out that she had already made that decision. She insisted she was being honest. The barista reassured her, “I do not doubt that for a moment. The point is that, because forgiveness is born of the will, its construction is mental rather than emotional, as many people believe. That is why they fail. People wait for a pleasant feeling to overthrow the empire of resentment. That feeling will not appear out of nowhere. The love and compassion that will replace resentment or anger are the consequences of a movement that begins in the mind and only afterward finds a home in the heart. The will is the fundamental and sacred seed; then a philosophical arc of understanding and comprehension becomes necessary to create fertile soil, and only then will forgiveness find the proper conditions to blossom in the heart”.
The barista continued, “Forgiveness will not come as a free gift from time, through a magical touch, or after a swim in the sea. It is a construction of consciousness”. The beautiful woman argued that, if she had already chosen to forgive, she must already be in the second stage of the journey: the philosophical arc of understanding and comprehension. Bárbara nodded and anticipated Liz’s next question. “That arc is a mental road that will lead you to truth, where you will find clarity, balance, and strength for ever firmer movements, though never deprived of gentleness and grace. Never forget that truth is both gentle and courageous at the same time. Truth is the source of every transformation”.
The beautiful woman admitted she did not understand this mental road she was supposed to travel. She wondered whether she had been following the wrong path. Bárbara observed her for a few moments, like someone who knew the time had come to reveal the narrow and unwanted door that nevertheless had to be crossed in order for the journey to continue. She called the waiter, asked him to bring cups and a coffee pot, then posed the crucial question: “What do you expect from Inácio or Igor?” Surprised by the question, Liz replied that she expected nothing from either of them. It was an answer still driven by pride and anger, not by truth. The barista recognized the contradiction, waited a few seconds for the beautiful woman to gather her fleeting emotions, and repeated the question, adding, “Before you answer, ask your heart. To censor your own feelings is to flee from yourself. That will keep you far from forgiveness”.
Liz’s eyes shone once again. This time, because of tears. The beautiful woman took a deep breath, clasped her hands in prayer, touched them to her lips, and went to the very centre of herself. When she returned, as though confessing a forbidden desire, she admitted, “I long for the day when Inácio and Igor, full of regret, come to ask for my forgiveness. I imagine that moment every time I remember what they did to me. And that happens almost every day”. Bárbara revealed the door Liz refused to see. “Do you realize that by conditioning your forgiveness upon the actions of other people, over whom you have absolutely no control, you are transferring the centre of power of your own life to them? That feeling of helplessness, born of misguided desires and flawed reasoning, leaves you trapped in suffering. Worse still, the gesture you are waiting for may never happen. The folly of that expectation is what keeps you captive to hatred and tears you apart with silent yet devouring pain. The way you deal with the rigidity of your own thinking and feeling is what keeps you far from forgiveness. Forgiving does not depend on any action by someone else. It is an intensely personal act; in other words, it is a power that belongs exclusively to the individual. It would be absurd to believe that a person’s healing and liberation should depend upon another person’s whim”.
The beautiful woman argued that her brother’s and nephew’s repentance was an indispensable ingredient for forgiveness. It would be an act of justice. The barista replied, “Be just to yourself. Seek your own healing without waiting for anyone’s permission. Free yourself from the suffering that crushes you and fills your days with bitterness”. Liz wiped away her tears and confessed that she felt lost in an existential labyrinth. She did not know which road to follow to reach forgiveness. Bárbara explained, “The doors of existential labyrinths never open outward. The exit always leads us inward, into unknown universes. What you seek is not in the world. It awaits you within your own consciousness”.
The barista was emphatic. “You refuse to burn bridges”. The beautiful woman admitted she did not understand. Bárbara explained, “We are taught to build bridges and fight to keep them standing in our relationships. Without question, that is an important evolutionary principle. However, even the best principles allow for valuable exceptions. There is not a single good reason to preserve bridges that serve only to bring suffering, illusions, and mistreatment. In truth, such behaviour merely dims the light. Darkness and pain prevail and dominate the heart. Without respect, love cannot survive”.
She then concluded, “At times, we must destroy bridges so that certain crossings are no longer permitted, nor even contemplated. It is not always easy to burn bridges we have crossed for a long time, to end connections that have shaped part of who we are. Yet who we have been has brought us to this point; to move forward, we must become someone else. No one can do that without a few demolitions, without which there can be no reconstruction. Breaks are indispensable for closing existential cycles. One story must come to an end before another can begin. Whoever tries to live two stories simultaneously ends up losing themselves in both. No one can embark on a new journey while still held captive by the previous one”.
She waited for the waiter to place the coffee pot and cups on the small table between our armchairs before concluding, “Waiting for a crossing from someone who no longer values or respects you not only nourishes resentment, but also allows life to drain away through the cracks of emotional subjugation and mental rigidity. Although you wish to move, you are rendered incapable by the lack of understanding that afflicts you. Thus, at times, breaks are essential to forgiveness. Destroying the bridges that lead us to harmful places is an urgent act of self-love. It is a movement toward the light that leads to forgiveness, the city of peace”.
Bárbara poured coffee into our cups. Then she excused herself and stood up. She needed to return to the counter. With a kind wink she said, “Today’s coffee is on the house”. She left before Liz could even ask her to stay a little longer. Alone, we drank our coffee slowly and without saying a word. The silence was necessary to make room for thoughts and feelings. The beautiful woman broke the silence, surprising me. She murmured that, contrary to what she had always believed, she had never truly lived a real adventure. Yet every day was perfect for embracing life. There was no greater or better adventure. Liz was speaking of the life she had neglected within herself. Then she whispered, as though sharing a secret: “No one is free while standing upon someone else’s pillars. Chaos is a blessing. Breaks and destructions, at times, are as well. Reinventing oneself is the only adventure capable of transforming reality”. She was determined to learn to rely upon herself as her own pillar, support, and fortress in the face of life’s inevitable reversals from that day forward. It would not be easy, but neither would it be impossible. Life never withholds the exact tools required for its essential works. One simply has to understand where they are kept. There was an incomparable light in her eyes. She gave me an affectionate kiss on the cheek, thanked me for the conversation, and left. She was happy to be departing. It was an unusual journey. The Liz she knew was going in search of the Liz she had yet to discover.
I remembered the novel I had been reading, in which the protagonist abandoned a solid family structure of shallow experiences to cast herself into turbulent yet profound existential waters. Liz had lived many adventures throughout her life. Unlike the fictional heroine, hers had lacked depth. She expected nothing from them except amusement. Inácio had been her safe harbour, where she could dock with a damaged hull and torn sails whenever necessary. Repairs were guaranteed. There were no risks, only protected recklessness. The beautiful woman had taken many journeys without ever truly going anywhere. Then came the storm. Not to destroy her, but to tear away everything that no longer served her and postponed her true adventure. Chaos, as it always does, arrived as an invitation to journey toward unexplored places, toward inner discoveries and victories.
To venture toward the centre of herself, she would have to return to the world, with all the risks inherent to it, an exercise essential to self-knowledge and the refinement of the soul. Without those constant departures and returns, the movement would be nothing more than escapism. Every understanding is useless unless it is tested and refined through action. Liz would learn to become her own safe harbour, where she could find refuge on dark nights before setting sail again the following mornings. This time, she would travel driven by new interests and different priorities. She herself was her destination. So it is for everyone. I looked around and smiled. The coffee shop in Gávea was not a coffee shop, nor was it a therapist’s office. It was a harbour.
Translated by: Cazmilian Zórdic
