Next exit, please
Letting old lessons pass you by (when you meet them in the coffee shop)
can’t sleep, I still hear it
next to me
the monologue
from the coffee shop
this morning
conversations
froth and lift off
in little bubbles of two, or three
pleasantries, mostly
only skimming the surface
as the wand-tip dips and weaves
one voice
carries high, above the mingling
reaching to be heard and seen
things, previously
bottled up and saved for later
aerosolized, released at high speed
“they offered me…AN EXIT”
emphasis, without taking a beat
projection beams
at decibels just below a scream
A VC, competing
with pressure-jet and steam
in his element, dominating
eyes darting to see
who else might be overheard
capitalizing on this Bay Area scene
well, me, for one
fallen
sticky residue seeps
latching on, the need to seize
electrons, somehow still seeking polarity
“you wanted that, too, you know…AN EXIT”
receptivity, deep
shivers up-vertebrae
ice cold, tap-dancing feet
“You remember now, don’t you"
"You judge, but, his story's not so unique..."
I shrug it off
years ago, I would have had what he’s having
“they forced my hand, to sell the company”
“…unplanned, they made me an offer I can’t refuse!”
an empty cup soars
as wild gestures perform
wide, wavy-sweeps make 8 figures
“it was too much, really, it’s obscene what they paid me!”
a blue checkmark hovers in mid-air
verified: validated, and offered, loudly
to anyone who’d seem to care
It’s no surprise
strangers, avert their eyes
body language leaned back in their chairs
I turn away, and there's
the faint whish of his vest, fading
calling out to me, one last time
a distant sun setting
on Patagonia sky
Once upon a time, I wanted a version of “his” story to be mine. No, not becoming a VC in a Patagonia vest, but the 8 figure payout sure sounded nice. I had stars in my eyes, living in San Francisco from 2010-2014. It was probably the longest four years of my life, mostly due to working non-stop and believing in a get-rich “Exit” tech startup stories.
In 2022 I took a trip to visit the Bay Area again, no longer working in Tech, and overheard the words in a coffee shop, loudly. He was alone, leaning into anyone’s conversation around him to share his privileged predicament: he had nothing to do, was fabulously wealthy, and wanted everyone to know it. You see, he’d been granted “An Exit” - the golden parachute phrase for selling a company in Silicon Valley. A place people rush to and then tend to immediately fantasize about leaving, transformed by the magic of money. It’s a running joke at this point, but if you stepped into any coffee shop, you’d hear rumors and positioning about every transactional conquest: “did you hear [blank] was acquired by [blank] for [funny number]…”
As a young adult starting out their full-time career in 2007, during what would become the 2008 financial crisis, this fantasy of breaking out of economic scarcity with a winning acquisition was all very alluring. I had ups and downs in my tech career - from being at a company that was acquired (not all “Exits” are the same for employees) all the way to having a company I founded fail, from being laid off to being able to hire and support other people. There were many good times, and it turns out I did not need or receive the 8 figure or 7 figure payout, after all. That’s alright with me.
For a while, when I would hear or see other people step into incredible luck (by their own admission), and become fabulously wealthy overnight, I would bristle a bit. I wanted to “have what they were having,” as they say in the cafe. But as time went on, and I looked back at my own career, I was able to appreciate it more. I’m grateful for all the good moments and lessons it taught me, and how really I was meant to be going in a different direction, doing something else entirely.
It took me a long time to figure out how to land this poem, and I realized that the reason this particular person’s voice stood out in the cafe, above all the others, is that I was attracting it. In 2022, I was still connected to wanting the “exit” story to be true, and wanted to recognize those electrons were still flowing my way, by choice (seeking polarity).
In this poem, there are two sets of dialogue, one from the newly-minted VC shouting about his exit over the milk frother in the cafe, and the other from my inner voice. In one of my favorite video games, Disco Elysium, your inner monologue is narrated out loud, by Lenval Brown. Different aspects of your personality/ego chime in on situations, offering you new lenses for experiencing your life. What was it telling me?
The only way I was going to heal from this decades-long twisted dream, was to let it pass me by. In the moment, I was judging the guy, for being loud and obnoxious, repelling people who didn’t ask to hear his story, and of course wearing the stereotypical Patagonia vest. My inner monologue had to come through and nudge me toward empathy, away from judgement, by reminding me that “his story is not so unique” after all. There are aspects of his life that I resonate with, and every moment I spent looking or paying attention to him was time taken off what I was enjoying: my life. Yes, I invested even more attention in writing this poem, but it’s not really about him, is it? I don’t even know his name. He was a mirror asking if I’d really changed.
When you meet someone that has everything you thought you wanted in the coffee shop, if it makes you bristle, ask yourself why. Do you see a bit of what you wanted inside? Can you let old dreams pass you by?
☕️
For those interested, this is my continuation of a poem prompt I shared back in February (yes I guess it took me months to get back to this theme). If you’d like to share writing about a conversation you overheard at a cafe, and what it triggered in you, please tag me! I’d love to hear.
Van Miranda