So I was sitting in my favorite corner at that little coffee shop on Maple Street yesterday – you know the one with the mismatched chairs and the barista who always remembers your order after the second visit? I had just finished a chaotic week at work, and my brain felt like a browser with 47 tabs open, all flashing “404 error.” I needed to just… exist. No agenda, no deadlines, just me, an overpriced oat milk latte, and the gentle hum of a Sunday afternoon. I was people-watching, as one does. A woman walked in wearing the most incredible pair of wide-leg, cream-colored trousers. They flowed as she moved,…