What is it?

All of the social networking tools we have today are great. We find friends we didn't bother to stay in touch with after high school, research people we're interested in (ie socially acceptable stalking), and often find out information we would have been better off not knowing.

Through the feed of such a networking tool, I found out that an ex was getting married exactly 1 year to the weekend of our last face to face visit. I saw it, I crinkled my nose at it, and moved on.

Then one busy Saturday I came home, threw the mail on my bed, and ran out to catch an evening performance. I end up sitting directly behind a former prospect, who was on a date. He saw me and quickly turned around. After the performance, I could feel him turning to talk. Really?!??! I quickly got up and moved out of the row.

Heading home, late, I saw the pile of mail
between me and a good night's sleep - or so I thought. In the mix of lease renewals, flyers, and bills was an enveloped with my address scrawled across the front.

It had been mailed four days before. I opened it up expecting it to be one of several former roommates' wedding invitations. A wedding invitation it was. To the ex's wedding, that day. What!?!? That's right. He mailed it 4 days before the wedding. His wife had forbidden Him contacting me 3 months before. I obeyed - he's since texted, emailed - all of which I've ignored. Who does that? Who thinks "I better send my ex my wedding invitation as I'm on my way out of town to my wedding"?

The color of the insert: Teal - the color of gangrene. Was I holding his cold feet?

I threw it across the room.

In the morning, still incredulous, I called my mother - my wise confidant - whose only reaction was "what is it with you? Nick still calls you on Christmas when he's at the airport with his wife. Jack tries to meet up with you when his girlfriend is out of town. Fred calls you right before he proposes. - and what about those other ones that made you their first call after they got engaged?".

I don't know! I don't know.

But I do know that I'm tired of it. I'm tired of being the last girl they date before they get married. I'm tired of them looking at me such that their wives shoot daggers and their communications come from the shadows. To the wives: I don't want your husbands. You went through my laundry, remember? To the men: what are you holding onto? What is it?

Fortunes

I don't know where September went. I had planned on savoring the smells of the start of Fall, sniff boquets of sharpened pencils, etc. But somehow this month has gotten away from me and I'm swiftly heading into October - though an apple picking trip is scheduled.

Anyway, in the hectic pace of everything - I've been ordering in. It's horrible, I've gained 5 lbs as a result, I keep telling myself it's the salt, but I know it's more about stress, stress eating, and never seeing daylight.

Today I ordered in again - steamed veggies and chicken - and of course my favorite part is the fortune cookie. A bit of sugar to keep my spirits up and a little "hey, your life will be fantastic" note inside.

I admit it. I am a saver of the fortune cookie message. I save fortune cookie messages and movie ticket stubs. Why, I don't know. I'm sure there is some archival expectation of leaving such wonderful things to my grandchildren, maybe to see if the fortunes come true, and if not, so I can tell them about all the movies I saw.

Here is the fortune for today: Stop searching forever, happiness is just next to you.

Now, had I been out to lunch with a dashing young professional, this would have made me giddy inside ... but alas, I was sitting at my desk, in my paper palace. Where I am right now. I was a little bummed. And then the receptionist stopped by my desk, saw the slip of paper and sad "Mag! That's me! I'm your happiness!". She is a little ball of sunshine.

I decided to pull out all the fortunes from the container I throw them in in my drawer. This is what we have:

People find it difficult to resist your persuasive manner. (It's so true)

You will be fortunate in everything you put your hands to.

You display the wonderful traits of charm and courtesy. (What a lovely thing to say)

What's vice today may be virtue tomorrow.

You will take a chance in something in the near future. (perhaps open my own business for once!)

Time is the wisest counselor.

You are capable, competent, creative, careful. Prove it.

Strike iron while hot. (still waiting ... it's at luke warm)

You believe in the goodness of mankind.

Many receive advice, only the wise profit by it.

You display the wonderful traits of charm and courtesy (twice, it must be true!)

Sing and rejoice, fortune is smiling on you.

You will be showered with good luck.

Your mentality is alert, practical and analytical.

Your dearest wish will come true. (if my grandchildren get to read this one, then it will be true)

The best prophet of the future is the past.

Life to you is a dashing and bold adventure.

You will win success in whatever calling you adopt.

Avert misunderstanding by calm, poise, and balance.

You never hesitate to tackle the most difficult problems.

So here's to the future and whatever it brings.

Watchmen

Long ago and far away my best friend and I would dream about what it would be like for me to live in New York City. She would pretend she was going to live there too, but the discussions were always about my perfect New York City experience. We talked about the big building on the West Side I would live in, the doorman who would tip his hat and smile as I walked down our beautiful stairs. I would be New York skinny, with a fun skirt and fabulous purse. The flower merchant on the corner would smile and nod at me while handing me a bloom, just because. I would take the long walk through the park, stop by my favorite breakfast shop, who would have my favorite breakfast food ready, all on my way to my fabulous job. Walking into the building I would say hello to some more faithful doormen and be on my way to an exciting job where I chatted with important people and then could have a fantastic nightlife or a walk through Central Park barefoot if I wanted. Of course some gorgeous Italian guy would then pick me up and throw me on the back of his motorbike and we would be off ....

I have to say, there are days when the dream is mostly a reality. Days when I feel I live a charmed life. Mind you, I'm not New York skinny (yet), and my flower merchant makes me pay for my blooms (she's not won over by my charm somehow) but the rest is pretty true (because the guy on the motorbike will be there someday!).

I think what makes me feel that way, are all my doormen along the way. They're always there with a smile, a nod, a "good morning". Sometimes even an offer to walk me to the subway stop with an umbrella when I've been caught in the rain. These men have no real obligation to me. I don't live or work in their buildings. But we see each other everyday and so it's just nice to say hello.

There's the doormen at Bradjolina's new place, there's the guy who collects for the homeless that smiles and wishes me good morning, Charlie who tells me when the outfit is working, but blows me kisses everyday regardless, Phil at the hotel who smiles and waves, and the stern guard at the building who lets me get away without showing my ID (for a while anyway) or his replacements who let me get by with a smile and a good morning. There's the evening shift who are just as nice.

Sure, you say. They see a lot of people everyday, they're just being nice. They don't really know me. And I think it's true, that's how it starts out. They're professionals afterall, the fronts for their establishments, the greeters.

And then yesterday, I was walking home and I realized that they really are watchmen. PJ in my building always says goodnight and uses my name, as he always has. What surprised me though, was that one of the doormen brothers at the luxury apartment building down the street stopped me on my way worried because he hadn't seen me in a few days. He wanted to make sure everything was okay. I explained I had been away on holiday and he was satisfied, smiled and waved and wished me a good evening.

I realized there are good men all about me and they help to make my New York dreams come true. New York is a charmed city because of them. No girl dreams of staying at the Plaza without picturing the doorman who will get her door. They make New York, New York. So here's to the good men of New York. The watchmen and greeters. The ones who stand ready with a smile and a salutation. Here's to Charlie, Phil, PJ and the Brothers. Thank you.

Missing Something

New York City has fantastic parks and trails, despite being a city. But one thing that Manhattan is missing is a proper beach. Probably because rivers never make good beach fronts. Many New Yorkers have taken to using the lawns in the parks as places to sunbathe. This is not a concept that I have been able to adopt so whenever a sunny weekend should present itself, I go back to my roots and head to the Jersey Shore.

The phrase conjures up a certain stereotype, no doubt. The perma-tan skin, the tattoos, the girls who shouldn't be wearing bikinis strutting in too short jean shorts that are unbuttoned and unzipped, with an equally inviting phrase plastered across each cheek, in case you missed the message they were trying to send. Fortunately, not all Jersey Shore beaches are so "klassy". Our beach of choice has always been Spring Lake, where the single guys are most likely to be doctors or investment bankers or living off a trust fund.

Not that we ever expect to find true love at the beach, it's just that the temperament suits us better.

This last weekend I caught the early train down so we hit the beach front in the height of activity, which meant parking was a nightmare. We drove all around, attempted to squeeze into spaces that were clearly not meant to be squoze into, and we dreamed about which houses we would soon own (emphasis on dream) so that we wouldn't have the battle the next time we came down. Every spot we saw was grabbed by someone else and it seemed that we would have to park way down to have a chance. And then the perfect spot opened. In fact it seemed to have been just waiting for us.

We grab our bags and head down the short block to the beach entrance. Across the street, walking in the same direction, is a guy and what appears to be his girlfriend. Typical college guy build, attractive, but nothing incredibly remarkable. He was wearing a white tshirt and white shorts, aviators. Very unnotable. But something seemed strangely familiar. It couldn't be though, that would be ridiculous. I didn't mention it and kept on in my current conversation. And then he moved his hand, again nothing remarkable, but it seemed to confirm my first suspicions. The chance that we would be walking on the same street, heading to the same beach front, at the same time, come on. It has to be someone else.

We cross the street, they crossed ahead of us as we got caught by traffic. I'd convinced myself it wasn't him, and so didn't pay much attention the rest of the way in. Until strangely there was some commotion where the beach tags are sold, that he was still standing there, he hadn't yet gone onto the beach. I was about 5 feet away, and then I saw his profile - it had to be him. I didn't want to be that person though, the one who shouts a name and it turns out not to be who you thought, so I was about to walk by. But it would bug me all day if I didn't at least try. So in a voice no louder than a speaking voice (which for me is quite soft) I said "Trent?" Slowly, he turns his head, "No way".

He comes over hugs me, introduces the girlfriend, she stands off to the side behind him as he starts just rambling about his work, his family. He looked good, I'm not going to lie, but then again he always was very vain. It had been nearly three years since I saw him. Three years since he told me that I was the girl he wanted to marry, but he wasn't looking to get married for 3 years. Three years since I found out that he was sleeping with his HS girlfriend when he told me he was going to visit family for the weekend. Three years since he told me that I ruined everything, that everything was perfect. Because, afterall, everyone should have their cake and eat it too.

I spent the day wondering why the cosmos thought it necessary to bring us together that day. I thought maybe there was something more to be learned. Maybe our paths were meant to cross for a time again. I even went so far to think that all the garbage could be swept away with some time spent together. I invited him and the girlfriend to come join some friends at my aunt's beach house. Stupid - but I needed to sort out the reason for this. He told me he couldn't because they were going to his grandmother's 80th birthday party ... I think grandma turned 80 3 years ago, too.

Even now, the reason eludes me. I'm still sad when I think about our relationship. It seemed perfect. For years we did everything together. He was my best friend. I suppose though, we both knew that one or the other would have to change to make things work, and neither wanted to require that of the other person.

It's kinda like New York City. I love New York and for this part of my life, it's perfect. But deep down I know I need a yard and a dog and a picket fence and a kitchen the size of a cottage to have the long term dreams in my life complete. And most important, I need a beach. All things that this perfect city cannot offer me. And so somewhere in the future we will part. But for now, I will stay and just visit the Jersey Shore.

Pioneer Day (Observed)

Whenever I have the opportunity to explore the parks or take an extended journey somewhere in the city, I try to take a route that I've never traveled before. This city has so many views to offer that I know I will never experience them all, but at least this way I hope to be able to take in a few.

A few weeks ago, I decided to explore Riverside Park. Each time I take a different way around, a new exit, what have you. I've discovered the Boat Basin Cafe (though have yet to go ... on the list, though) and the bike/footpath along the Hudson River. Over the last few weeks, I've been taking time to take short walks, a few runs, and the occasional trip to lie on the lawn and read in the sun (when there is some!).

I had the day off today, my own little Pioneer Day (observed), as my boss needed me in the office on Friday. I had no real plans, as I hadn't planned on being off, and while several suggests were given, I decided to see where the day would take me.

Late morning I decided to go for a walk, to take a new route through the park. Just as I had reached the point I had planned to go to, I looked up and saw the George Washington Bridge. I pulled out my iPhone, figured out how far it would be and decided to do it. I wasn't prepared. I had no water with me, no sunblock, but I decided to do it anyway. So I put my iPod on shuffle and was off.

There were several strange turns, the path was kept up better in some areas than others. Strangely enough, it was better kept in the areas of the island that I would not otherwise walk through. I walked past a water filtration plant, passed graffitied buildings, and sometimes through mud.

The road was paved and for the most part flat, so there were no real obstacles. Occasionally the sign would divert pedestrians to a different path than bikers. One such situation occurred as I was nearing what seemed to be the end. The bridge was big in sight, Google maps showed that I didn't have far to go. But suddenly the path wasn't paved anymore, it was a thin narrow dirt path, the kind you find in the woods, the off shoots of a proper hiking trail. This path narrowed further and further until it came to the cliff side where some makeshift boards had been placed over the rocks as the water splashed against them below. The path up ahead was not in sight as the cliff face curved and it looked desolate and overgrown.

I stood there fore a moment trying to decide if this was as close to the dream that I would get, or if I took the chance to cross the wobbly boards to see what, if anything, was waiting for me on the otherside. Several thoughts ran through my head.

Last night I had the opportunity to attend a fireside (lecture) by the recently appointed President of Utah Valley University, and son of the Apostle, Elder Holland, Dr. Matt Holland. After his remarks about Abraham Lincoln he took a moment to share a story about his struggles to find a wife.

He commiserated with us, saying that he'd sat where we were now, literally, having lived in Boston and come to Manhattan to find girls while attending grad school. He had decided that his lack of success in love was that he did not have a dating theme. So he decided it would be the Drive of 95, wherein he would not eat a meal outside of the presence of a person of the opposite sex the entire summer, and he never missed a meal. But nothing was clicking. Then on his return from a particularly horrible date, his sister decided that she would find him a wife.

A few days later she came home with one name. He called the girl, and the only free time both of them had was the very evening before he left for grad school, which just so happened to be the very day after his baby brother (7 years younger) was getting married in the typical Mormon tradition, of just 1 year after returning from his mission.

He awoke the morning after the wedding completely depressed and completely without faith in the promised blessings. In his misery he got up to walk down the hall to call this girl to cancel and just spend the day getting ready for grad school. As he was walking he distinctly remembers the thought "I may not have the faith, but I have hope". And so he went on the date, they got married, and they have a family.

I stood today at what just seemed like a forgotten path, and debated going back, thinking I would try another day, but knowing in my heart that I would likely not make that trip again. I pulled out Google maps, it said I could make it all the way there, but then again, the directions have led me astray before. I was ready to give up on the goal of making it to the bridge because the path seemed too unsure, and I couldn't see what was up ahead. And then something in me said, just try it, maybe something better is on the other side.

So I stepped out, I crossed the boards, which were most unsteady, and there, coming up around the corner was an open field, a field that sat on top of a hill that overlooked the base of the Bridge. I was going to reach my goal. It was possible.

Over the last couple of weeks or so I've felt like I'm standing at the boards. I've been traveling alone for a long time. I don't even know if I have everything I need with me, or if I'll have enough energy to make it to what has been promised. It's hard. There's no set plan, there's no ETA listed. I have only my gut to guide me, and prayer to help me through the sticky times. My exes admit that I've had a rough road, and that they have let me down. My family doesn't know how I have the optimism to think the next one will really work out. But I've been promised blessings. I've been promised a family, and even though time seems to be rushing past, I have hope that they will work themselves out.

I watch as friends who have taken the other path are enjoying those blessings I have been promised, and wonder if I missed something. If somehow I was supposed to be on the wider path. But I've checked the road maps, and there is a promise that those blessings are mine up ahead. I just have to walk forward, relying on the direction I have been given. I must step beyond the fear, even though the danger of getting hurt again is mocking me below. Only then can I feel the relief, and reach the goal.

Couture

I love this city. I love the pace and the way it changes, I love that there are buildings that are a hundred years old and still the most beautiful things on the block. But most of the time I am rushing from place to place, weaving between cabs, and running across redlit crossways in 4 inch stilettos, hoping to make my next appointment, get to a store before it closes, or running to catch a train.

There is the rare occasion when I give the stilettos a break and don more comfortable shoes and stroll down Fifth Avenue or the small boutiques on the East and West Side. In those quieter areas, the shops have some of the world's finest items. They are beautiful. The shops are quiet, there are few patrons. Walking in, the sales associates are willing to do anything to gain a commission, but stalwartly in the window or up on a pedestal is the most amazing dress; hand crafted, one of a kind, unlike anything else in the world. There are many who admire it from the window, some who will even dare to come in to get a closer look, some who are brazen enough to ask if it will go on sale, but there are few who have the means to call it their own. And far less of those who know of its worth. But there it stands, exquisite, confident. It knows that the one who it fits perfectly, the one who appreciates the handstitching, the quality of the fabric, and all of its color, will come and take it home.

Until the right buyer comes along, there are those who will have the means to buy. They'll stop by every week, admire the dress, maybe even try it on. The sales clerk will try endlessly to find the right words, the one phrase that will make the sale, all in vain. The fact of the matter is that these pretenders won't make the investment. They will never buy. Just visit, waste time. Wear the dress down a bit.

For days I keep rehashing the evening with Jake on that Monday. I guess really just rehashing the whole weekend, but mostly Monday.

I sent a text to him on Sunday while I was on the train back home to cook dinner for Mom for Mothers Day. I had forgotten to pick up a book and I debated texting him or texting my roommate. I had left without talking to him. Talked to plenty of others, so yes, I was capable of speaking, but I don’t know what it is. … No, actually I do. He does what I do. He pretends he doesn't see me, while peripherally he's watching me. But I'm too stubborn to make the first move, and too impatient to wait any longer for him to, so I move on and become chatty with everyone and anyone in his eyeline. I don't really want to be that way. I want to be bubbly and cute and run up to him and throw my arms around him and kiss him on the cheek and tell him about how excited I was to come and see him, and how I wore that particular dress to drive him crazy, but he hasn't done ANYTHING to warrant such attention.

And confidently I leave. Then remorse sets in, and regret, and heartache, and hopelessness and then a thought - if only I could change it somehow … and then the text was written: "could you pick up a copy of the book for me? Totally forgot in my rush to catch a train, I'll pick it up from you either tonight or tomorrow." Send: JAKE.

Time moves so slowly, the train somehow slower, and I once again mourn the loss of my iPhone and try to find something else to distract, to amuse. Twenty minutes later a simple answer "sure". What I really planned to do when I saw him, I don't know. But I had to somehow mend this chasm between us.

I loved going home. Mom's garden, the property with all its greenery, took my breath away. I love the city, I really do, but there is just something magical about the spring in the suburbs. Dinner went well, and I fear I wasn't my usual fantastical daughterly self (I was still sore from the 4 hour workout the day before afterall), but I knew it was more than that. I don't know what's driving this. I try to blame Rick, my ex turned bff. Afterall, without his pushing over the last few months, I wouldn't have taken a second look at Jake. I had seen the girls around him all the time, and him eating up all the attention; the kisses on the forehead, the patting, the overly generous hugs. I had written him off months ago. But Rick insisted that I needed to look deeper. That he was a good guy. So I took a chance on Jake. And now I'm only hoping he'll take a chance on me, too.

When I returned from my parents place I was wiped out. I called him, he didn't pick up, so I left a message. Five minutes later he called back and we just talked. I love our talks. It's like we're just sharing thoughts. There's no real objective. Just checking in. I told him that I would meet him after work and get the book so that he wouldn't have a delay in getting home. He asked me to send him reminders throughout the day as it would be hectic with a new client. Any other guy, and I would have said "forget it" but I thought, I know him, and he's true.

I sent him one little "have a good day" type of note in the morning. I got home around 7, changed, put on sweats, expecting that he would call somewhere around 10 or so, because he's always telling me how late he works. At 8:30 the phone rings. He was already out of the building and heading uptown. Eeekk! I quickly got dressed, put on make-up, threw some cupcakes in a bag (my incessant compulsion not to show up empty handed) and headed out. He beat me to Columbus Circle where we were going to meet and ride uptown.

I came around the southwest side and he was on the northeast side, leaning against a street lamp, his tie slightly loosened. The light fell on him perfectly. He looked fantastic. I was grinning from ear to ear. I was so embarrassed at how happy I was to see him. I turned away, and pretended to walk passed him, to turn, give him the once over and say "Jake? Is that you?". I think he was upset that I walked right passed him. But perhaps I'll have a chance to explain someday.

My perma-grin was still etched on my face and he barely looked at me - so concerned perhaps of what seemed to be a plan as the evening unfolded. I thought we would just ride uptown, but instead, he decided that we would do some shopping - where I got to see the side of Jake I love. He danced, he was goofy and cute.

We walked and talked, up a few blocks … to McDonalds, his restaurant of choice, the location of the end of our first (and only) real date. We didn't really talk about it much. Actually, not at all. But walking out we talked about how he spent Sunday reading his journals, contemplating the past, and the future and with a cute smile in my direction "the present". But that conversation was cut short due to the subway, which I felt weird getting on, since I wasn't far from home. I didn't know if he wanted me to stay with him, or what … but he hadn't given me my book yet and I was so confused. I hadn't planned on taking up all that time.

He ran into some friends on the train. I didn't know them, and he didn’t try to include me in the conversation. I felt so awkward, more so than before.

We got off at his stop. And walked and talked about nothing in particular. Grocery stores. And he said that he has a hard time shopping for things that he can't take with him. That he likes to look and search, but that once he knows what he wants, he wants it right then. My thought: He doesn't feel that way about me.

I still felt awkward, like I was walking along uninvited. So when we got to his apartment building, I asked if he had my book, and he just chuckled and said, "it's upstairs".

His roommate was home when we got there, which I don’t think he was expecting. He just left me and went to get the book - didn't offer to give me a tour or anything, which I thought was strange. We chatted a bit and then I left.

I felt so foolish walking home by myself that night. Like I had done the chasing. That I was the only one pathetically interested. Like I was pushing too hard. I know I CAN be aggressive when I want something, but nothing in me ever wants to be that girl. I just want to be adored, and to give the adoration back. I resolved that day that I was done.

And I was for about three weeks. But now, I hate him just as much for making me feel that way over and over again. He says he needs me. He shows affection, calls for hours on end, and then the moment I need him, he makes me feel so foolish, so ridiculous - two things I am not.

I've sat on the back burner before and promised myself that I wouldn't do it again. I've often tried to rationalize why those men waste our time like that, but there is no good answer. So it's best to walk away, not buy into the pity pleas for attention, and know that there is someone out there who knows that couture doesn't go on sale, can't be found anywhere else, and must be treasured. Leave the bargain shoppers to the overstocks and knockoffs. This dress is going to the highest bidder.

Only Us

Last Thursday, just days after I submitted my first post to this Blog, I could have sworn I was in the same car, on the same train, as Cope heading uptown. I wasn't sure it was him, until we got off the train (at the same stop no less); he was up ahead of me in the crowd. He had looked back just as he disappeared out of sight. I think he knew it was me, but thinking I had stood him up nearly a year before, he made no effort to wait for me.

When I got out of the subway, I looked around hoping to catch him. I couldn't see him anywhere. He had vanished. Then, walking across the street to the South, I saw him cross at the North. It was him. I am sure of it.

Yeah, right. What are the odds.

I would have been slow to believe, except it wasn't the only unlikely encounter for the week.

The next morning, I donned my red trenchcoat and an umbrella, and headed down the street to work, later than usual because of the unbelievable delay in trains. I was walking along, watching for puddles, wondering how much longer this "rainy season" would last, when I glanced up and caught half of a familiar face.

I ducked down to see if it was in fact him under that umbrella, and it was. He recognized me too, invoking the biggest smiles across both of our faces. Walking to each other I remark "What are the odds?" and he responded "Only us".

It was true. When I was commuting from Jersey, a precarious commute to be sure, I would often find myself on the same train, in the same car as him, sometimes early in the morning, sometimes later. There was no reasoning to it. The same would happen going downtown. Inevitably Jack* was there.

At one point we were both creeped out by the encounters, time would pass and we wouldn't see or hear from each other for ages, and then suddenly every week or so we'd bump into each other as if the cosmos had combined to put us there. It got to be so that I knew that if there was a strange delay to my commute that an encounter was coming up. Soon it became common place. Strangely those moments were moved to passing him on the street, or ending up behind him at a crosswalk. They became so frequent, that I stopped tapping him on the shoulder or getting his attention. And suddenly they stopped all together.

But it isn't just the New York moments that are so peculiar.

Years ago, when we were in High School, I had a presentation to do in my Honors English class. The assignment was to present a poem in a way that would highlight a poetic elements or something like that. I chose to sing, yes SING, Robert Frost's poem "The Road Not Taken". We had a small class, so my embarassment, I calculated, would be contained. Except that on the particular day on which I was to present, another English class came in to join.

I did all that I could to block everyone out, which is probably why I don't remember him being there.

Class cleared out and I walked slowly down the hall, praying that the event would be forgotten. A girl can dream right?

As I approached my locker, standing on the corner was a guy I had only ever seen in passing. I couldn't imagine what it was he wanted or how he knew where my locker was. He smiled and said that he just wanted to say that I sounded great (oh goodness, he was there) and that he knew how much courage it took to do what I did. Then he was gone.

For years after graduation, whenever anything seemed particularly difficult, I would think back to that moment, and be suddenly renewed with strength to do whatever it was I needed to do, always surprised at the recollection of it.

Then one day I found a fantastic job in a fabulous city, and through a series of events came back in touch with Jack - years after we had graduated. He worked just 2 blocks west of me, what are the odds?

I think we both recognize that there is something special about the way we keep bumping into each other. And from time to time we think we're to make something more of it. But nothing we do ever seems to really stick, and so we walk away, figuring that we were wrong, that it was all just coincidence.

We don't know why we keep getting thrown together, only that we do. There is something magical about it, but we haven't figured out what.

So on this chance meeting, we smile and laugh, and know that it is "only us" who would be crossing paths once more. As common place as it has come, there is something special about each meeting and so we take the moment, despite the hundreds walking around us, to summarize our journeys since our last encounter. We make plans to catch up on the gaps, aware that the plans may or may not happen. With a kiss on the cheek and a laugh we part, more curious and less cautious about what this next stretch of road will bring.