A few years ago, I had an unexpected encounter that left me floored—not because it was steeped in drama or straight out of a rom-com, but because it delivered a lesson I didn’t know I needed. And let’s be honest, in a city like LA, where Botoxed small talk and organic juice cleanses masquerade as personality traits, meaningful interactions can sometimes feel rarer than an empty Santa Monica freeway.

Picture this: It was one of those crisp, unusually chilly November mornings in Beverly Hills, the kind where the palm trees look a little smug against the silver sky. I was pacing in line at one of those too-trendy coffee shops where they sell gravitas with every latte. I had a meeting-slash-casual-pitch-session with a producer in an hour—someone who, I was told, “loves new voices,” the vaguest compliment known to mankind (next to “You’re like, so confident”). Naturally, my nerves were high, and I’d already overthought my entire outfit (chic, effortless, but not trying).

The line moved at a glacial pace, which gave me ample time to spiral. Should I mention my short story that got published in an anthology, or would that read as desperate? Would gripping my cup too tightly while pitching reveal I had mild hand anxiety? I was mid-rumination when a man behind me chimed in:

“Are you going to order the exorcist coffee?”

I turned, confused but also slightly charmed. He was pointing to the menu board at the “Cold Brew with Activated Charcoal.” For reference: the kind of coffee you’d order if Gwyneth Paltrow dictated your life choices.

I smirked, not willing to let on that I was circling that exact option. “Exorcist? Bold of you to assume I harbor demons,” I said, proud of my quick return.

“You don’t?” he countered. “Well, that’s a first in this zip code."

And just like that, the energy shifted. We started talking about everything but the type of person who swears by activated charcoal. (We agreed they own at least one “live, laugh, love” décor item ironically.) His name was Max—or maybe it was Matt? Either way, he was my opposite: scruffy, too casual, wearing what could only be described as "clothes born from a commitment phobia to laundry." But there was something irrefutably comfortable about him—like the human equivalent of a thrifted sweatshirt worn to perfection.

“Let me guess,” he said as I inched closer to the counter. “You’re a writer.”

I paused mid-eye roll, almost impressed. “What makes you say that?”

“Something about the way you looked up at that board as if the wrong choice would lead to your existential collapse,” he teased. And okay, yes—fair observation, Matt-or-Max.

Twenty minutes and two oat-milk lattes later, we parted ways. He scribbled something on a napkin and handed it to me. “For when things go murky,” he said cryptically. Then he walked out.

The napkin read: “The answers are in the doing. Not the overthinking. Just do the thing.”

I don’t know why it hit me—his unsolicited wisdom—or rather, why it needed to. But it did. Maybe it was his unencumbered confidence, the disarming nonchalance of someone wholly content with who they were. Maybe it was how he sensed my exact mental tug-of-war without being pretentious about it. Whatever it was, his advice cut through all the noise I’d been carrying around in my neatly compartmentalized brain.

Stop Romanticizing the Overthinking Olympics

Let’s get one thing straight: LA is a breeding ground for overthinkers. You want to reinvent yourself on Monday mornings and question your entire aesthetic by Thursday night. Half of us act like we’re auditioning for a David Sedaris essay when, really, most of life is just about showing up authentically.

Here’s what I learned from our caffeinated encounter: overthinking is the great robber. It steals spontaneity, joy, and, most importantly, time. Especially in dating, where we dig into a single text message (Was that “haha” playful or sarcastic?) like we’re modern-day archaeologists.

When you catch yourself in an overthinking spiral, ask: "What’s actually helpful here?” Nine times out of ten, the answer is not deconstructing someone’s Spotify playlist for emotional depth.

The Answers Are Always in the Action

Max/Matt’s napkin quote burned itself into my subconscious that day. After our chat, something clicked. I still overanalyze (I mean, I didn’t magically become a meditative monk). But now, when I feel stuck—whether creatively or emotionally—I remember his words. It’s not a cosmic secret: Do the thing, and clarity will follow.

So, you’re nervous about making the first move after a great date? Just make it. Call them, text them, send that TikTok where an otter hugs a baby. Does sitting on the sidelines ever feel satisfying? No.

Or maybe you find yourself in an endless loop, trying to figure out whether you and your significant other “have it all.” Here’s the hard truth: no one “has it all.” What you can have is the courage to ask hard questions and take meaningful steps forward—or, when needed, away.

Embrace Neutral Encounters

I think about that stranger often, not in a “what if that was fate?” kind of way (spoiler: it wasn’t), but because it’s a reminder to embrace the odd, fleeting, neutral connections in life. Relationships—with friends, lovers, or people at coffee shops—don’t always need a dramatic arc. Some leave you laughing over oat milk and send you home with a scribbled one-liner that changes your perspective. That kind of intimate, insignificant magic is enough.

Lessons from a Latte Prophet

If there’s one takeaway from all these musings, it’s this: keep your heart open to unexpected lessons. People you barely know can remind you of things you’ve always known but conveniently ignored. The stranger is, after all, the mirror we didn’t anticipate needing.

Next time you find yourself hyper-focusing on your next “move” or navigating the murky waters of vulnerability, do as Matt-or-Max suggested: less thinking, more doing. Sure, you might falter, but at least you’ll be moving forward.

The real romance, I now see, isn’t limited to candlelit dinners or a perfectly executed dating app opening line. It’s in the quiet unraveling of our own hesitations, the ingenuity we find in letting go—and yes, the courage to order the metaphorical exorcist coffee.

Now, go out there, caffeinate boldly, and live a little. And if someone ever offers you advice from a napkin, take it. It just might stick.