Denis is a friend. He’s also a coach.

Every couple of months, we meet for lunch in the same little brasserie near La Défense, where he works.

I’d sent him my latest essay.

I wanted his thoughts.

That evening, he replied with a single message.

“In coaching, once trust has been established, there’s one question that almost always comes up: deep down, what do you really want?”

I never answered.

Not because I was busy.

Because I didn’t know how.

A week later, we’re sitting across from each other.

The waiter places the menus on the table.

Denis gently slides them aside.

He looks at me.

“So…”

Silence.

“Deep down, what do you really want?”

I start talking.

I want Between Us to grow.

I want to grow in my career.

I want to build a life with my girlfriend.

I want…

The more I speak, the further I feel from his question.

The waiter comes back.

“Have you decided?”

I look down at the menu.

Even then, I don’t know what to answer.

When the waiter leaves, Denis still hasn’t said a word.

He looks at me.

I try again.

I rephrase.

I search.

I fill the silence.

I talk about my work.

My projects.

My life.

Until I finally say:

“Damn…

I don’t know.”

Saying it out loud almost embarrasses me.

I’ve spent years building projects.

Years making decisions.

Years looking like I knew where I was going.

And yet, faced with such a simple question, I have no answer.

He takes a sip of wine.

Then he asks,

“What do you love?”

I answer immediately.

“Writing.”

“And what do you want?”

Silence.

“Writing.”

Then the words come.

I want to be read.

I want to tell stories.

I want to write them in French and in English.

I want them to reach people I’ll probably never meet.

I talk about the life I’d like to build with the person I love.

The time I’d like to get back.

The freedom I hope writing will one day give me.

I’m not thinking anymore.

I’m just talking.

The waiter returns with our food.

He interrupts us.

I realize I have no idea how long I’ve been speaking.

On my way home, I kept wondering what had just happened.

At first, I’d spent the whole lunch trying to answer.

In the end, I’d simply started talking.

I don’t think Denis taught me what I wanted.

He didn’t find the answer for me.

He simply removed, one by one, all the answers I thought I was supposed to give.

As if the problem had never been that I didn’t know what I wanted.

As if the noise of everything else had simply kept me from hearing it.

I still think about Denis’ last word..

“Finally.”

— Kevin