Intersections

Streets intersect, as do people. Streets intersect in a more or less predictable way. There are stop or yield signs or traffic lights to signal the presence of an intersection. Crossing the intersection, on foot, by bicycle or by car, one travels linear distance but usually remains fundamentally unchanged. When two people intersect, however, it is often much more random, the signs and signals more subtle, and the impact on their lives potentially large.

Last week I was sitting in an independently owned cafe in Denver, drinking a decaffeinated coffee and taking advantage of free wireless access to search apartment and real estate listings. A friendly looking man with a baseball cap approached me and asked me if I were Rachel, someone he knew up in Boulder. No, I said, but I reassured him that people mistake me for others all the time. I didn't think too much of it - people in Colorado tend to be quite outgoing and I didn't sense that he was using that as a pick up line. I smiled at him and returned to my web surfing.

The following day, a Friday, I returned to that same cafe to check my e-mail; I was waiting for some documents from a realtor. They didn't come, and I didn't hear from her so I left the cafe. Driving around, I found a funky ice cream place shaped like an old fashioned milk bottle. While indulging in some gelato, the realtor called and told me she needed my electronic signature within the hour. Not wanting to waste time finding a different venue with wireless, but also hating to retrace my steps, I reluctantly returned to the cafe, somewhat regretul that I was filled with gelato yet would still need to order something to take advantage of the WiFi. I bought another decaf coffee, opened my laptop and logged on.

The man with the baseball cap came in - or maybe he was already there? I can't recall - and we acknowledged each other. I figured he was a regular at this congenial establishment; there were a couple of other people there I recognized from the day before. He sat a few tables away, occupied with a paperback book. At around 5:00pm the cafe was beginning to empty out. I had concluded my business but something kept me there, even though there were other places I could have gone to spend the evening. He came over and asked me what sort of work I was doing. I told him I was in the process of moving and was looking for a place to live. He then asked me if I'd join him for a drink at a place whose name I didn't quite catch and, even if I had, I probably wouldn't have recognized. I agreed, having no idea what sort of place it would be.

The exchange was quite simple but also unusual. He later told me that he never approaches women in cafes, and that he had returned on Friday in order to find me, and I confessed that I usually don't get picked up in cafes. I think we were both a bit surprised to find ourselves seated across from one another at his neighborhood restaurant, where he's built a reputation as a regular. Being in transition, with major pieces of my life up in the air, I am taking things one day at a time, relying more heavily on my intuition than on my intellect. I am not operating from an ego-driven identity right now. I am just trying to be with whatever happens each day and see where that takes me. This man later said that he had responded to my energy of just being. Had my ego been in charge, it probably would have declined the invitation, coming up with all sorts of "reasons" why going to a place I didn't know with a stranger would be a bad idea.

Just being didn't feel particularly special to me; I was not happy or sad, elated or excited. I was not trying to get anywhere, I didn't have an agenda. I was certainly curious about this man, with whom I ended up spending the next five hours in thoughtful conversation, but I was aware of not creating a story around our encounter, not getting caught up in the what ifs or spinning scenarios about what might happen next. It was refreshing to just spend time with him, enjoying the mutual appreciation and exploration without tinging our encounter with anxiety about whether we'd meet again.

In this rare place of being in the moment, with neither of us trying to impress or otherwise play a role, this man said some extraordinary things to me, about how he perceived me. I was so surprised that I started to blush. Perhaps the Universe had orchestrated my intersection with this man, arranging for us to provide each other with psychic boosts at, for me at least, a critical time.