The Old Lady at the Coffee Shop - on Rejection

The coffee shop hummed with quiet conversations and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine, but the young man in the corner barely noticed. His shoulders slumped over his untouched black coffee, his phone face down on the table as if turning it over would erase the rejection still lingering in his inbox.

The Old Lady, seated a few tables away, recognized that look immediately—the tight jaw, the restless hands, the weight of disappointment pressing down. She had seen it before, in different forms, on different faces.

She stood, adjusted her cane, and made her way over.

"You look like someone who just got told ‘no’ when they really needed a ‘yes,’" she said, settling into the chair across from him.

The young man blinked, startled. "What?"

"I’m old," she said with a knowing smile. "I recognize defeat when I see it."

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "Sales," he muttered. "Another client just backed out. It’s the third rejection this week. Feels like I’m wasting my time."

The Old Lady nodded, stirring her tea. "Tough business, selling. People think it’s about talking, but it’s really about learning how to hear ‘no’ and keep going anyway."

The young man let out a dry laugh. "Yeah, well, I’m tired of hearing ‘no.’ Maybe I’m just not cut out for this."

The Old Lady took a slow sip of her tea. "Do you know how many publishers rejected J.K. Rowling before Harry Potter got published?"

He shrugged. "A few?"

"Twelve," she said. "Twelve people looked at that story and said it wasn’t worth it. Imagine if she had stopped at the first, or the fifth, or even the eleventh."

He sighed. "So you’re saying rejection is just part of it."

"I’m saying rejection isn’t a stop sign," The Old Lady said. "It’s a redirection. Sometimes it teaches you how to refine your approach. Sometimes it simply reminds you that persistence matters more than perfection."

The young man stared at his coffee, drumming his fingers on the table. "But what if I’m just not good enough?"

The Old Lady leaned in. "Let me tell you something, dear. The best salespeople aren’t the ones who never hear ‘no.’ They’re the ones who stop making ‘no’ mean something about them."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Rejection isn’t personal," she said. "It feels personal, but it isn’t. The client didn’t reject you, they rejected the offer, the timing, and their own readiness to say yes. If you start tying every ‘no’ to your worth, you’ll never survive in this world."

The young man was quiet for a long moment, letting her words settle.

"So," he said finally, "I just have to keep going?"

"You have to keep going," she confirmed. "And maybe learn to hear ‘no’ differently. Not as failure, but as feedback. Not as the end, but as the thing that sharpens you."

He exhaled, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. He picked up his phone, scrolling through his emails with a different energy.

"Thanks," he said, glancing up at her. "I think I needed to hear that."

The Old Lady smiled. "Most people do."

The young man straightened, sipped his coffee, and reached for his notebook. He had follow-ups to send, and new pitches to refine. Maybe today was a ‘no.’ But tomorrow? Tomorrow was another chance.

Reflection: How often do you let rejection define you instead of refining you? What if every ‘no’ was one step closer to the ‘yes’ that truly matters?