Independence, it turns out, really has to be pursued as soon as possible—because there will always be obstacles that might come after, and they could make the goal vanish, wasting the blood and sweat of struggle, only to end up as nothing more than a dream.

So I went out for a jog and headed to the old café where my high school friends used to hang out. A simple plan: typing away while sipping an iced brown sugar latte, something affordable enough for the way the economy feels these days.

Wearing a black jacket, old running shoes, and carrying my laptop bag tightened on both straps—so it felt like part of my own body, like a weight I had to carry toward building a stronger one. Passing by Pondok Cabe Air Force Base at 5 in the afternoon felt ordinary, since today the traffic was just average. I was grateful for the sweat dripping and the warmth in my thighs, proud to feel it on Indonesia’s Independence Day.

And just like independence itself, arriving there came with a warm welcome from the owner I’ve known and trusted for a long time. I chose a seat next to him, though at a different table, and was greeted with the kind of simple, honest words that make me value this coffee shop above so many others.

After ordering coffee and settling at my table, a friend seated across the owner asked me something. He was just waiting for his kid at a vocal and speech lesson nearby. By the time the barista handed him his drink, he quickly left, and I was left with lingering questions about my new line of work. Smoothly, I moved my laptop, keys, jacket, and bag one by one and sat across from the man—someone just a little younger than my parents, born in the 60s—to talk and answer the thoughts swirling in my head.

Opening Notion on my laptop, I started telling him about my experiences. We talked about business and education, because I trusted his perspective and because there was already a sense of comfort between us. I asked him what’s been on my mind: why does a salesperson have to push for a quick decision and guide the customer straight into purchasing?

I’ve always felt that rushing someone into buying isn’t exactly virtuous, even though my colleagues and I are required to meet targets. But then he explained: the role of a salesperson—even when the title is “Field Education Consultant”—is essentially to convince. And convincing someone almost always requires urgency. There are so many competitors out there; hesitation just opens the door for second-guessing, and eventually, no decision at all. Too many options often lead to dead ends.

That made sense to me. Still, another question came up: after the purchase, what if the customer ends up dissatisfied—or worse, feels regret for trusting me? Especially in education, where it feels wrong if my role only serves sales numbers, while real success should come from the child’s progress in learning.

He replied with a story: satisfaction and outcomes after a purchase are actually the responsibility of other divisions in the office. My role is best optimized by giving input and feedback once I’m involved. That’s the point of teamwork.

And personally, it’s a reminder: we shouldn’t be paralyzed by fear or imperfections. We need to keep adapting, keep trusting, and keep chasing what we once dreamed of.

As he lit another cigarette and I sipped my latte again, I remembered a YouTube interview with the CEO of the very company I work for. He admitted, honestly, he’d never formally been a teacher. He only tried teaching a few friends back in college. But together with his team, they built this platform to answer one problem: access to education. That’s why they created an interactive, virtual learning system—optimizing the internet, apps, and teaching methods—formulated into a solution.

Back at the coffee table, I asked another question: Does a CEO, or anyone at a high managerial level, really understand what each division does? Should a CEO know exactly how a Field Education Consultant works?

He leaned back and replied with his deep, calm voice, “Do you even know what he does?” I stayed quiet, nodding as if I understood. Then he shared something from his own past. His old boss once told him: never pick a salesperson to lead the sales team. Why? Because jobs tied to targets are often filled with unhealthy shortcuts. Sometimes the tricks work, but they’re not sustainable. Sometimes they’re noble, but end up hurting the company.

Then he laughed, “If he already knows finance, why would he hire a finance guy? Might as well do everything himself, hahaha.” I laughed too, agreeing with him. It’s true: a CEO doesn’t need to understand my work in detail. What he does need to know is the essence of my role on paper, and more importantly, the quality of the product we’re all trying to deliver.

Honestly, I just needed validation from someone more experienced. As an economics student finishing up the last of my coursework, this clashed with what I used to practice in student organizations: anyone aiming for a role had to first experience that role themselves. The reason was simple—so they could guide others, most of whom were inexperienced.

But amid his playful logic and clever rebuttals, suddenly the coffee shop owner cut in with a sharp laugh: “It’s because back then you wanted it quick, right?” I slowly admitted, even though a part of me felt guilty. But it was true—the program back then was short, and the work had to be accelerated by optimizing the people we had, choosing those already skilled in the roles.

I admitted it fully. In my new job too, I’ve often felt this way: whenever I make a move, people around me step in like teachers—reminding me not to misstep, guiding me without me even asking.

It’s been a fun realization: we’re not God when we’re at the highest position, knowing everything. We’re not automatically the best when we’ve been at our lowest. What we must do is keep listening—because that’s how we move forward, how we grow into the next stage.

Then, without saying a word, we both glanced at the time—he from his phone, me from my laptop—and decided to head to the prayer room before maghrib gave way to the next call.

And so, I’d like to end this by saying: this little mix of work and coffee talk isn’t some grand transformation. It’s just one of the many lessons I’ll live through. My hope—for myself and for all of us—is to keep listening, keep adapting to the world around us.

With technology and information growing at lightning speed, it’s only through conversations and openness that we find our own independence. Independence that comes quickly—because we don’t let unanswered questions rot into mistakes later. And independence that feels joyful—because from the very beginning, it was rooted in doing something meaningful for others.