“I’m not good at finding people,” I tell him, discouraged.
“It doesn’t matter. People find us,” he says.
And just like that, it’s flipped. Things are never one-sided. Years later, I remember this conversation, and the truth of it rings in my ears. In the ensuing deluge of missed connections and mismatched agendas, I realize, in fact, it isn’t so hard to find or be found.
And then you show up and make it seem complicated and easy, all at once.
“We haven’t talked about it…but that’s where we are,” you tell me simply, and I wonder how you can be so utterly convinced of these things. I’m following along a script I think you already have in your head, though I suspect you’re improvising, just as I am. You’re just more confident about it.
Sometimes, though, I look at you, and I’m convinced, too. Sometimes (most times), your eyes are calm, and I can look into them and stop doubting. Because the truth of it is, you found me, and I found you. People are all searching blindly, but there are too many of us for connections not to arise. We find each other.