The day was not yet showing signs of dawning. It was a moonless night. An incredible blanket of countless tiny stars covered the mountainous valley where the monastery slept. I had slept enough. It was time to have some coffee and take advantage of the silence and stillness to reflect on the existential moment I was living through. Who I had been had brought me that far; from that point on, I would need to become someone else if I wanted to move forward. The question was understanding what in me needed understanding, transformation, and fulfilment. Upon arriving at the cafeteria, I ran into Heitor, the Argentine monk, a psychoanalyst of rare mastery and a friend since I joined the Esoteric Order of the Mountain Monks several decades ago. We had joined in the same group, though his studies to understand the soul and psyche had begun many years before. The instant friendship had been solidified over time and, above all, through experiences that brought us closer. He had just brewed a pot of coffee and was sitting at one of the tables near the windows. He was letting the beauty of the starry sky cradle his thoughts. He smiled with sincere joy when he saw me. I filled a mug and sat beside him. Our conversations were famous for lasting an entire day. We enjoyed listening to each other, as true friends do. It had been a while since we’d last done that. Without him asking anything, I began speaking about my recent reflections. What did it mean to mature; how and when did it happen? What in me still needed to mature?
Heitor smiled at the question, uncommon for our age. At the time, we were both nearing sixty. We had lived through many emotional and professional experiences. I had changed careers at thirty; then changed again, and again. With two daughters, a granddaughter, and a long-time girlfriend, I had built a family outside of traditional molds. It wasn’t a matter of right or wrong, nor better or worse. If it happened in my own way, it was perfect for me. In that heterodox family, there was room for a few but loyal friends, ever-present. We had faced many existential trials together; we had been each other’s lighthouses in moments when one of us was lost in the dark nights of misunderstanding. That friendship had been essential in teaching us how to reignite our inner lanterns every time we let some obstacle extinguish them, so that we could find our way again. I saw them as true cosmic brothers. Heitor was one of them. “Is everything okay?” he asked. I explained that, at that moment, both family and business were well, with nothing to worry about. The matter was something else. At a time when many people my age were doing the math for retirement, I was restless. A new business idea excited me. The psychoanalyst asked, “Are you going to get rid of the publishing house?” I replied that such an idea was out of the question. Books had always been a passion. But there was another: coffee. For decades, I had imagined opening a café with a concept that slowly took shape inside me; some aspects were inspired by places I had visited during my travels, others were born from the creativity that comes when building something that brings joy. The idea was ready. Since I was living my days calmly and without major concerns, an overwhelming desire arose to turn that dream into reality. I had both availability and willingness. The time had come, I declared. Heitor shrugged and said, “Well, why not?”.
The café concept was mature. What I needed to know was whether I was. There was the matter of age, maybe too advanced to start a new venture. But that wasn’t all. I wondered if it wouldn’t be immature to throw myself into a business where I was unaware of the details and mysteries. Being passionate about the sea isn’t enough to make an ocean crossing. I needed to understand the journey I was proposing for myself. As an investment, I would use all the money saved over the years to cover any unexpected setback. Heitor opened his arms as if stating the obvious and said, “Why do we worry so much about hypotheses that we don’t even know will happen while stopping ourselves from doing something that truly matters to keep us motivated about life?” I argued that impulsiveness reveals traits of immaturity. He agreed and added, “No doubt. So does fear”.
I fell silent. With those words, my friend was suggesting that if I didn’t know the feeling pushing me forward, I was still immature. Heitor warned, “Immaturity is not chronological, nor does it appear only in seemingly reckless actions. There is no model, formula, or mold where all people can fit. The reason is simple: we are unique. Trying to fit into a mold, even a comfortable one, is like living inside a box. All the magic and fantastic possibilities that lie outside will cease to exist. It is as immature as the impulsiveness of venturing down erratic paths in the absence of a true purpose that serves as a destination. As long as we are unaware of the feeling behind each decision we make, we remain immature. The right feelings move the mind forward; limiting emotions bog down thinking”.
He paused before adding, “Understanding the concepts is the fundamental step to making good use of the ideas they contain.” The psychoanalyst asked me if I knew what it meant to mature. I said I believed I did, until two weeks ago. Now, I wasn’t so sure. I needed to understand it better, and there was no more opportune moment. We laughed. Heitor began his explanation: “In short, to mature is to be ready. Someone becomes ready when they take responsibility for themselves, when they accept the consequences of their choices, and also for the feelings and ideas that move them; they become self-sufficient, clearly understand their life’s purpose, and can work with a subliminal vision. On one hand, it’s a simple definition that can seem simplistic to those who don’t grasp the deeper aspects it holds; on the other hand, it’s a complex concept that becomes confusing and fantastical when poorly understood”.
I asked him to break down the idea of maturity in a clear and objective way, so that it could be accessible to everyone. Heitor smiled with his usual generosity and promised to try: “Maturity has nothing to do with age, but with emotional balance and mental strength. We are the result of the elaborations of our feelings and thoughts in every experience and at every moment. The more unstable the fluctuation, the lower the maturity. However, stability doesn’t mean being stagnant, rigid, or motionless. Stability must move in search of ever more advanced points of balance and strength. The less movement there is, the greater the immaturity. These movements originate from the core to express themselves in the world; they are perceived in the world to be processed in the core in perfect and continuous symbiosis. Therefore, the idea of that bearded scholar living in a vast library, quoting phrases from ancient sages full of universal truths, but who avoids the adventures of life with all their inherent risks, may impress crowds of the naive and even become a guru, but hides an immature personality for fleeing the hard battles of everyday life. They are the ones eager to teach how to do without ever having dealt with the effort of making it happen. They tend to have entourages of followers, admirers, and servants to meet their many dependencies. Knowing without doing breeds dependency, a sign of immaturity. Learning without acting doesn’t translate into transformation, and therefore, not into evolution”.
He took a sip of coffee and continued: “Another aspect of maturity is the full responsibility for the feelings and ideas that drive you. Some might say, of course, it’s impossible not to feel anger, hurt, or sadness when others wrong us. Yes, it’s natural to be overtaken by heavy emotions in unpleasant situations, but letting those sensations take root in the heart, become long-lasting feelings, and start to guide future decisions reveals aspects that cannot go unnoticed. No one puts hatred or resentment inside us. The feeling already existed, even if only in its potential form. The seed of the weed was hidden or dormant, but it was there; the event simply brought the rain that made it sprout. Not understanding is not knowing oneself; not accepting is denying oneself. This behaviour is common among the immature.” Then he added another hypothesis: “In the same way, when we hear different versions of an event, we are drawn to believe the one that matches the ideas and feelings that please us; we prefer blind and delicious rumours rather than dealing with the wild truth that destroys the beliefs that have always served as our map and compass. It is difficult to admit a mistake that has guided us for so long and to face the embarrassment and effort of reconstructing the truth within ourselves. Denying and fleeing is immaturity; understanding and accepting is a mature attitude.” He let his gaze wander for a moment across the distant stars and concluded: “In the face of sudden outbursts, many will say they were provoked, that losing control is normal in the face of offense; they’ll argue that someone has the power to bring out the worst in others. But we only express what lives within us; be it flowers or stones, we can only offer what we carry in our baggage. Understanding or intolerance, compassion or impatience, humility or arrogance, wisdom or ignorance, love or hatred, gentleness or harshness. Of course, we’ll always have the escape route of being led by twisted reasoning to justify our own mistakes, and keep living with the convenient illusion instead of facing the hard truth, admitting our errors, and committing to change. Maturity requires taking responsibility for your own feelings, ideas, and attitudes. Every situation that takes away your control over yourself and leaves you at the mercy of others’ behaviour reveals how much the world still manipulates you between light and shadow. The attempt to shift the responsibility for your reactions shows unmistakable signs of immaturity. Acting without knowing feeds impulsiveness, another hallmark of immaturity.”
He tapped his fingers on the table as he did whenever he was about to touch on delicate topics and asked: “Have you ever favoured one person to the detriment of another, who was actually more deserving but didn’t receive their fair share because of the different feelings you held for each of them?” Embarrassed, I nodded and admitted my regret. Then he asked: “Do you know what it means when we allow a feeling to be stronger than the truth?” Immaturity, I replied clearly.
Heitor smiled in satisfaction and advanced the topic: “Another trait of maturity is self-sufficiency, a concept that needs deeper understanding. It’s not about not needing anyone. That’s so immature it borders on childishness. If you’re sick, go to a doctor; a legal issue requires a lawyer’s support; there’s no way to grow a successful business without the help of good collaborators. The self-sufficiency I’m referring to is mental and emotional, an indispensable premise for autonomy, the concept of living according to your own rules. This doesn’t mean a foolish rebellion against laws meant to ensure healthy and respectful coexistence among people with deep internal differences but equal rights to live in the same society. Though these laws must be constantly updated to keep pace with ongoing social changes, they remain the objective boundary between civilization and barbarism.” He paused before returning to the core of the matter: “Mental and emotional self-sufficiency is achieved when a person gains a certain level of self-awareness, capable of aligning their choices to a coherent pattern of truth, virtue, and unified ethics. A coherence that echoes in strength and balance. Strength is the steady and simple power with which we move internally and externally. Balance is the moderation and harmony with which we relate to ourselves and the world, in a narrative filled with humility and simplicity, compassion and courage, patience and tolerance, gentleness, firmness, and sensibility. To fight without aggression, to argue without offense, to respect even when not agreeing with others’ choices, this translates into softness and lightness, precious qualities of a baggage emptied of grievances, abrasiveness, and unnecessary conflict. There is much light in living this way. Self-sufficiency is expressed in the ability to guide oneself by one’s own light. Then, one has achieved the autonomy to live by their own rules, without needing external validation, without internal dependencies or unconscious influences in their decisions”.
I asked about life purpose as a requirement for maturity. Heitor explained: “If you ask, almost everyone will say they have a purpose. However, it’s essential to understand what pleasure drives us to truly comprehend where we are going. Some people want to earn ten million dollars a year, others long to become instant pop stars, or have similar goals. There’s nothing wrong with those. What must not be forgotten is that purposes are like routes. Each route, a journey. Not every journey leads to the expected destination.” I said I didn’t understand. The psychoanalyst was clear: “To prioritize the mundane at the expense of the sacred reveals immaturity, due to the discomfort caused by abandoning the soul. Life stays at the surface of existence, making movements shallow and offering only short-lived pleasures. A life disconnected from the essence within leads to an existential void. An unexplainable sadness and a senseless anguish spread through the core, even if pride never allows us to admit we are lost, fragile, or unhappy.” He paused for me to process the thought and continued: “At the other end, prioritizing the sacred while dismissing the mundane results in avoiding the evolutionary challenges and struggles found in everyday life. Life gets lost in the illusion of a theoretical, and therefore fictitious, depth, because it refuses the hard tests of reality. The daydreams grow louder, distancing the person from reality; they become builders of paper heavens.” He took another sip of coffee and asked a rhetorical question: “Do you see how both extremes produce similar outcomes?” Then he clarified: “Virtue lies in the middle, in the harmony between opposites. Aligning the sacred and the mundane in every action, without letting them split or collide, grants both depth to existence and elevation to life. The journey becomes meaningful and unique.” And he added a caveat: “However, there must be no sacrifice. If there is, it means the purpose is still just an immature ideal. Maturity brings with it determination, joy, and the pleasure of walking the path. Difficulties are revered as teachers, never lamented as obstacles.”
He emptied his coffee mug and commented: “This is where subliminal vision works in harmony with life purpose in service of maturity. The eyes on your face show the colours on the surface and the visible movements of others. These are incomplete truths, or may not even resemble truth at all. Subliminal vision allows you to read between the lines of unspoken words, to see the hidden pain behind an unjustified action, the unseen trigger behind an unexplained outburst, the invisible trap that imprisons someone within themselves. They are the eyes of the soul. Able to see the tear that doesn’t fall; to understand the yes that means no; to find colour when everything appears grey.” He waited as I refilled our mugs with more coffee and continued: “The way you see things changes reality. Relearning reality realigns life purpose.” He furrowed his brow and concluded: “Maturity offers an angular transformation, like a watershed moment in a river’s course that allows it to merge with the sea.”
I asked him to explain that last part better. That was when we heard a voice coming from the cafeteria, unnoticed until then: “Maturing is necessary. As a wise man once taught, remaining immature makes you miss the learning curve that allows you to gain control over yourself and leads you to waste the power of life.” It was the Elder, as we affectionately called the oldest monk in the monastery. He had been sitting at another table for some time, but we hadn’t noticed him. The good monk explained that he didn’t want to interrupt the conversation but couldn’t help overhearing us until he eventually gave in and decided to join in. He apologized for the intrusion and asked if he could sit with us. He would always be welcome, we said happily. I mentioned that the quote he cited carried great beauty but also a certain enigma, needing a more detailed explanation. Heitor agreed with me. The good monk filled a mug with coffee and sat at the table with us. Then he said, “Maturity is like assembling a jigsaw puzzle; many pieces must fit together harmoniously to form a beautiful image. In this case, each one must assemble themselves. If one piece is missing, the beauty of the image remains incomplete. I heard Heitor clearly explain the concept and how the pieces work”. Turning to me, he said, “This knowledge, if used correctly, will lead you to maturity, allowing the necessary inner transformations for the consequent and essential accomplishments.” I shared my doubts about starting a new business as I neared my sixtieth birthday, investing all the money I had. I asked whether it would be a youthful immaturity to venture down erratic roads or if there was maturity in making a dream come true, as a way to keep life pulsing within me. The answer was laconic and inconclusive: “It depends”.
That didn’t help me at all, I thought, without saying anything. The Elder smiled, as if he knew what I was thinking at that moment, and explained: “Heitor spoke of four essential pieces in the puzzle of maturity: responsibility for your actions, ideas, and feelings; self-sufficiency; purpose; and subliminal vision. One element was missing.” While Heitor and I looked at each other, not knowing what he meant, the good monk revealed it: “Foresight. It is the ability to anticipate certain events based on a sharp observation of facts. Don’t confuse it with the expectations and assumptions typical of immature behaviour”. There was no need to ask him to elaborate: “In maturity, we understand that there are no shortcuts on the path, that we are the heirs of our choices, that the meaning of life lies in the construction of the self, and that outside of love there remains only the unwholesomeness of a barren existence. It is enough to look back with clarity, sincerity, and courage to understand where we got it right and where we went wrong. At what moments we could have done differently, and better, in all our relationships, whether family, social, emotional, or professional. Our days serve as both school and workshop; if you haven’t learned, the lesson repeats; if you’ve learned, you must put that learning to use. If not, life corrects and shakes you. If you stray, you stumble, one way or another. If you get it right, a new tool is offered. The manual is vast and creative; depending on the need, it may be sweet or bitter. But it is relentless”. He took a sip of coffee and continued: “It’s not about predicting the future or other superstitions adored by the immature, but about understanding what will never work because it is being done the wrong way. That level of understanding isn’t available to just anyone; foresight is a product of maturity.” Then he reminded us: “There are people at seventy still lost in immature behaviour, while others at twenty are already reaping the benefits of maturity. Maturing is not a matter of time but of spiritual evolution”.
He turned to me and concluded: “That’s why the answer is: it depends. Besides taking the proper care with business strategies, it’s worth reviewing all the mistakes and successes in your past relationships. Use them to your advantage. The coffee shop, like any other company, is a being with which you’ll build a relationship. What you offer, it will return. Understand the feelings and ideas that move you; be responsible for them. Stay alert to the dedication you apply and the genuine interests you feed. Spare no effort in making your collaborators feel joy in generating prosperity for the business; the energy of each member composes the egregore of a company; love unites and enlarges, misunderstanding divides and shrinks. That’s how it is with all our relationships. Don’t close your eyes to uncomfortable truths; they’re the hardest to accept and the ones that usually save us. If there is maturity, the right answer will never be missing.”
At that moment, several monks began arriving for breakfast. Beyond the glass windows, daylight was breaking. Maturity brings the same feeling. With the light, the journey becomes safe, not because the world changes, but because the traveller is no longer afraid.
Almost a year later, we were gathered for the inauguration of the coffee shop. The rest is history.
Translated by Cazmilian Zórdic.
