The Calculus of Connection
There’s a before and after. Before, I measured every relationship like a coach analyzing a sprinter’s stride: the risk of vulnerability, the potential for misstep, the exact margin for error. I’d map out emotional terrain with the precision of a track diagram, calculating how much to give, when to pull back, whether the investment would yield a medal or a bruise. My heart became a spreadsheet, my trust a variable to be minimized. I’d sit in my quiet Atlanta apartment, the hum of the city outside, and feel utterly alone in the safety of my own careful calculations. I’d watch my parents’ restaurant empire—built on leaps of faith, not spreadsheets—while I built walls with my own hands.
The shift came on a Tuesday. I was supposed to meet a friend for coffee, but my old script kicked in: What if they ask about my divorce? What if I say the wrong thing? What if they think I’m weak? I almost canceled. Then, standing at the coffee shop door, I remembered my first athlete, a shy girl who’d refused to race until she’d memorized every turn of the track. I’d told her, "You’ve already started. That’s the hard part done." I’d said it to her, but I’d never said it to myself.
I walked in. I ordered my coffee. I said, "I’m still figuring out how to be here." My voice shook, but I didn’t retreat. I didn’t calculate the silence after. I just was. And in that uncalculated moment, the air changed. The friend didn’t flinch. She leaned in. We talked about everything—everything—without a single risk assessment. It wasn’t perfect. It was real.
Here’s the thing about victory in relationships: it’s not about avoiding the fall. It’s about deciding before the jump that you trust your legs to catch you. I stopped measuring the distance to the edge and started feeling the ground beneath my feet. I stopped asking, "What if I fail?" and started asking, "What if I fly?" I became someone who shows up with her whole, uncalculated self—not a perfect athlete, but a human learning to run the race with the wind, not against it.
You’ve already started. That’s the hard part done. The rest? It’s just putting one foot in front of the other, trusting the track you’ve already laid. This is your race. Run it.
— Maya Okonkwo, cheering you on from the finish line
Written by Maya Okonkwo — 12:23, 14 January 2026 (CST)