An economy of presence: with Maija
Penned and Pictured by Philip David Cobb
Maija texted me the day before, asking if she needed to write a statement ahead of the shoot. I briefly considered saying yes — half joking, half curious to see what she’d actually do — and I’m sure it would’ve been excellent. I didn’t, though, not wanting to add any pressure. When she arrived, there was no essay, just her: attentive, prepared, present.
A few years back, a group of us went to Brooklyn for The Book of HOV exhibit at the Brooklyn Public Library. We wandered into one of the expansive rooms just off the main exhibitions — long shelves of books, tables meant for research and scholarship, a real card-catalog feel that suggested tradition without stagnation. Brooklyn is where Maija grew up, and at one point she mentioned spending a lot of time in that library during her early years. It was a passing but fitting detail. She has always struck me as someone oriented toward education and learning — less about credentials than the way she thinks and communicates.
I’ve had the chance to see Maija in a few different settings with friends over the years, and it’s remarkable how her attentiveness shows up consistently. I joke that she’s always running for what I call FOTY, “Friend of the Year” — and a recent birthday she hosted made it easy to see why, as several friends from across her circles gathered to celebrate her quietly magnetic presence. Being around her, you realize that her intelligence isn’t performative; it’s woven into how she engages with people and ideas alike.
The same careful thought carries into her professional life, where she works as a corporate leader, designing programs and strategies for teams and organizations. In conversation, she mentioned that she hopes to move into nonprofit work eventually — but only after she first makes a lot of money — a practical, deliberate approach that feels quintessentially her.
Maija’s small gestures toward the people around her — listening, noticing, showing up — compound in ways that aren’t always obvious in the moment. We often hear about the “attention economy” in the context of social media, where every like, view, or scroll is treated as currency. But in relationships, attention is a kind of social capital: the care and intention we give to people and moments. When invested thoughtfully, it builds trust and strengthens connection. Over time, it accrues into lasting affinities and a sense of belonging — a rarity in a society where focus is fragmented.
We ended the shoot casually, catching up on what friends were up to and events happening. At one point, she showed me something on her phone and then tossed it back into her bag, missing slightly and having to adjust it, and laughed as she recalled something her mother used to say: “The lazy woman works twice.” Playful as it was, the line captured how she operates — with a flexible rigor that leaves room for being human, a quality I’ve come to respect and appreciate.
