Coffee Chats · Before the Abyss

“One of the most beautiful things in life is finding someone who can understand you without you having to give so many explanations.” — Kahlil Gibran

Gibran said something that should be printed on coffee packages. Exactly like that: anyone who doesn't speak my emotional language becomes such a burden that my inner peace starts crying out for repairs. And the worst part is, you waste time explaining things that should be standard practice.

There are people who not only don't speak our emotional language… they simply don't speak anyone's emotional language. People who seem to have just landed from another planet, where the weather is strange, priorities are different, and common sense comes with a manual no one received.

Emotional miscommunication doesn't always stem from major tragedies. Sometimes the argument starts over a profound issue. Other times—and here's my favorite—it starts over the expiration date of an egg.

Yes, an egg. Because eggs have the date printed on the shell. In short, a nutritional apocalypse.

It turns out that not checking the date is, apparently, an attack against humanity. If someone simply decides to make an omelet and the other person interprets the scene as the beginning of a potential episode of CSI.

But here's the important thing: when someone doesn't speak your emotional language, anything can turn into a world war. An egg, a towel, an unread message, a dish left out of place.

And yet, we live under this contemporary mantra that repeats: “communication is key,” “things get sorted out by talking.” Talk about everything? Talking to that person is like trying to explain poetry to a toaster!

That's why I maintain something that might seem politically incorrect: no, you don't always have to speak up. Sometimes speaking up is what ignites the fire. And remaining silent, on the other hand, protects a calm, livable environment. Escaping is a thousand times wiser than arguing.

Sometimes you have to do what cats do: see the drama coming and disappear for six hours.

Because explaining, explaining and explaining… only to end up on the edge of the abyss… that's not communication: it's emotional torture.

And when the other person doesn't detect the danger, when they don't feel the tremor beneath their feet, when they keep moving toward the explosion as if nothing were wrong… you get worn down. You get angry. You get hurt. You get drained.

That's when Gibran's quote ceases to be a beautiful saying and becomes an emotional compass. It reminds us that there are—albeit rare—people capable of understanding the emotion behind a gesture. People who see the volcano before it erupts. Who know when to stop before crossing the line.

Perhaps the key lies in learning to retreat in time, before the edge of the abyss becomes home. There are places in the soul meant for calm, not for survival.