Some people step into your life as if they were always meant to be there. Others, well, they barrel through the door like a gust of wind, sending all your carefully stacked beliefs and habits flying. That was Maya: my friend, my accidental life coach, and the human equivalent of a glass of really good champagne—effervescent, bold, with just the right amount of bite.
When I met Maya, I didn’t know my life was about to change. But isn’t that how these stories always go? You’re busy trying to untangle the mess of your daily existence when someone hands you a pair of scissors and teaches you how to cut through the knots. That’s exactly what she did. Only Maya didn’t just hand me scissors; she handed me a machete.
A Meet-Cute, But Make It Platonic
We met at a community arts fundraiser on Austin’s east side, where Maya had volunteered to paint faces for the kids while I scurried around organizing raffle prizes. I remember noticing her first—this woman with a purple streak in her hair and an arm full of jangly bracelets. She looked like she’d just stepped out of a ’90s Sundance movie, complete with an air of freedom that made you wonder why you weren’t already best friends.
Maya approached me because, in her words, I looked “severely stressed” and in desperate need of a taco. While I declined her taco offer (a moment I still regret), we ended up grabbing coffee a week later, which turned into a three-hour conversation about everything from feminist theory to whether aliens would prefer Topo Chico or LaCroix. By the end of our informal caffeine summit, I knew two things: Maya was the kind of person who made you feel alive, and I desperately needed more of that in my life.
The Shake-Up I Didn’t Know I Needed
At the time, I was in a rut so deep it felt like I might need climbing gear to get out. You know the kind—work-home-repeat, plus the occasional Netflix binge that somehow feels more exhausting than refreshing. I wasn’t unhappy, exactly. I was just...fine. Stuck in “meh” mode.
Maya was the opposite of “meh.” She approached life the way you approach a buffet at a wedding—eyes wide, plate full, and no fear of second helpings. Everything about her challenged my own tendency to play it safe.
For example, Maya had this rule: If you have a compliment, you have to say it out loud. No hoarding kind words. She once told a stranger at Target that their eyeliner was flawless, and it led to a 20-minute conversation about self-expression as an act of resistance. It always seemed so simple for her, the way she moved through the world with curiosity instead of caution. I wanted that for myself, but it felt like she was fluent in a language I didn’t even know how to pronounce.
Teaching Me the Art of Yes
Maya’s not-so-secret superpower was saying “yes” to life before her logical brain had a chance to object. When I grumbled about not doing enough for myself outside of work, she dragged me to a pottery class, despite my protests that I didn’t have an artistic bone in my body. Spoiler alert: I was terrible at pottery. But I laughed harder that night than I had in months, and I still have the lopsided bowl I made (it now holds loose change and bad juju).
She also convinced me to join an amateur improv group, which remains one of the most terrifying experiences of my adult life. But you know what? It taught me that no one’s really paying as much attention to you as you think they are. Everyone’s too busy bungling their own lines.
Maya’s mantra became mine by default: “Try it. The worst that happens is you fail, and then you’ve got a great story.” It sounds deceptively simple, but when life has worn you down to your most risk-averse self, it feels like a dare. And who doesn’t love a little dare from time to time?
The Big One: What Maya Taught Me About Love
Of all the things Maya taught me, her views on love flipped my entire perspective like a perfect pancake. At the time, I was tangled up in a situationship so ambiguous it could’ve only been defined with one of those charts they use to explain football plays. We had chemistry—or at least I thought we did—but the emotional connection was thinner than Austin’s winter coat game.
Maya didn’t hold back. “Babe,” she said one night over frozen margaritas, “you’re giving Michelin-star energy to someone who operates at a fast food level.”
Ouch. But also, fair.
Maya didn’t just push me to reevaluate that relationship; she helped me rewrite my understanding of what I actually deserved. She reminded me that love isn’t supposed to leave you guessing. It’s supposed to feel like a duet, not a solo with an occasional backing track. And when I finally decided to walk away from something that wasn’t serving me, she rallied around me with the kind of moral support that felt like a hug and a hype track all at once.
Becoming My Own Maya
Here’s the thing about friends like Maya: They don’t just impact your life—they help you unlock parts of yourself you didn’t even know were closed off. Slowly but surely, her lens became my lens. I started approaching strangers with compliments, trying activities that made me look a little ridiculous, and saying “yes” to things without overthinking every possible outcome.
Did I accidentally agree to a silent disco in the middle of Zilker Park one time? Yep. Did I have the time of my life? Also, yes.
But perhaps the greatest lesson Maya ever gave me was this: You don’t need to be fearless; you just need to be brave enough to act in spite of fear. And that advice will take you just about anywhere, from an improv group to a pottery wheel to walking away from situationships that sound like they belong in a Taylor Swift song.
Final Thoughts: The Friend Who Becomes Your Inner Voice
Maya and I don’t live in the same city anymore. She’s off in Portland, organizing community events and probably convincing random strangers to try something new. But she’s still with me, lodged in the back of my mind like a really excellent piece of advice you didn’t know you needed.
When I hesitate to try something new, I hear her voice: “What’s the worst that happens?” When I worry I’m not enough, I hear her laugh, half snort, half chuckle: “Not enough? Babe, you’re an ultra-marathoner giving track meet speeches. Own it.”
We’re all looking for those connections that make us better humans. For me, Maya was the friend who shook the snow globe of my life and refused to let things settle back into place. She taught me that life’s greatest moments usually happen when you step out of your comfort zone—and that sometimes, you just need someone to drag you to the edge.
So here’s to the Mayas of the world: the storm you didn’t expect but desperately needed. May we know them, may we love them, and may we all learn to channel them, one compliment (or lopsided pottery piece) at a time.
