Prelude

How do you know when you meet someone who will change your life?

So many encounters pass through us without leaving a mark.
Strangers cross our paths every day:
a glance on the street,
a moment at a stoplight,
a door held open,
a quiet thank you exchanged and forgotten.

Thousands of brief intersections,
arriving and dissolving within seconds.

And then there are the meetings that do not pass.

They arrive with a force that feels unmistakable…
a connection so sudden and magnetic it reaches past the surface
and settles somewhere deeper, more essential.

I have often wondered what separates these moments from all the others.
Is it chance, or something more deliberate?
Is there a quiet design at work,
some unspoken alignment between two lives
that draws them together at precisely the right moment?

Serendipity is often defined as luck,
the act of finding something valuable without looking for it.
But I have never been able to accept that the most meaningful encounters in our lives are purely accidental.

There is a particular recognition that comes with them.
An internal shift.
A sudden awareness that something has been set in motion.

When you are honest with yourself, you remember it immediately:
that first meeting that felt different from all the others.
The way your attention sharpened.
The way your thoughts quickened.
The sensation of two inner worlds briefly touching,
as if some quiet exchange took place beneath the words.

I met someone like this once.

I was drawn first to language…
carefully chosen words that carried intention and depth.
I reached out without knowing why, only that I needed to.
What followed was a conversation that unfolded effortlessly,
measured and fluid, like a dance that did not require instruction.

Time lost its edges.
Each sentence opened the door to another.
Ideas moved between us with an ease that felt almost practiced,
as though we were shaping something together rather than speaking separately.

When it ended, the absence was immediate.
A hollow quiet where the energy had been,
not loss, exactly, but the sudden awareness of what had just passed.

In reflecting on it, I understood why the moment lingered.
It was honest.
Unperformative.
Untouched by pretense or expectation.

There was respect in it.
And something raw and unmistakably alive.

I was left with questions, of course –
not the kind that demand answers,
but the kind that stay with you.

Why did we meet?
Was it coincidence, or convergence?
A brief alignment of two inner worlds,
drawn together for reasons that do not announce themselves?

Some encounters are not meant to be explained.
They arrive, alter us, and remain –
quietly shaping who we become next.