The Missed Connection
You know those moments that threaten to completely change your life as you know it? They shoot into you like lightening, painful and unexpected, jogging you awake from whatever mundanity you’ve settled into. Where moments ago, you were comfortable in your humdrum existence and the assurance of day-to-day predictability, you suddenly find yourself wondering how you could have ever been satisfied by anything less than this… this feeling of being truly present and alive. I think I’m having one of those moments right now… I think we might be having one together.
It’s funny how our lives can change completely under the most ordinary of circumstances. One cross-country work flight and one missed connection and here I am, surrounded by hundreds of other weary travelers in the middle of the Chicago airport, sitting down to eat the sad-looking, wilted sandwich I’ve just ordered from the only restaurant that didn’t have a miles-long line.
If we had been anywhere else, I might not have given it a second thought when I felt your eyes on me, but there’s something about travel that just does that to you, isn’t there? Free from the confines of our daily lives, we can be who we were always meant to be… or maybe at our core, who we’ve always been. It feels like the easiest, most natural thing in the world to fall completely into you, sinking into your gaze, deeper and deeper, as you begin to make your way towards me.
Five.
With your first step, I take you in. Tall and slightly bedraggled in your light blue sweater and worn khakis, your brown hair rumpled from a long day of travel, a solemn expression on your face. Your eyes are fixed on me, bright green behind wide-rimmed glasses, your gaze steady and piercing, clear in its intent. I feel a shiver wind its way up my spine.
Four.
I note the calluses on your sun-beaten hands, clutching tightly to a briefcase. Although you’ve clearly been traveling for business, those hands tell a deeper story, of strength and hardship and a life lived fully. I see the muscles in your arm flex powerfully around the strap of the briefcase, longing to reach out to me, and my body comes alive.
Three.
Here alone together, the world fades away around us. The overhead announcements quiet and the mess of screaming children blur at the edges of my vision. I see you fully, as I know you see me. There is no danger in slipping more deeply into us, the pure truth of love at first sight blanketing me in warmth as I settle into the shared knowledge that our lives are about to change forever. I let myself envision what lies ahead, sinking into the simple moments where those hands will touch me and your heart will truly know me, and feeling the weight of the bigger moments where we will watch our once-separate existences become comfortably intertwined through friendships, children, and the passing of time.
Two.
Alive in this moment, the air is electric between us. I see myself as you see me and feel more beautiful than I ever have before. The scar on my pinky from falling on sharp rocks as a child, the burn mark on the back of my hand from my first attempt at fried chicken, the circles under my eyes made permanent by years of unfulfilling work, the loneliness and hope that are held within my spirit, reflected in yours… they don’t disappear but are instead made miraculous under your gaze.
One.
Another step closer.
Am I ready for this? It’s human nature to flee from the unknown, even when that unknown fulfills our wildest dreams. Behind me are the days of comfort, predictability, and known security. I wasn’t sad before, not really. Who am I to dream of pleasures beyond what I’ve already been lucky enough to experience? What right do I have to feel ungrateful for my old life, seeking to leave the known world mere seconds after meeting you?
My window of vision grows smaller, and it’s only me and you left in the universe. Despite the little voice of doubt in the back of my mind, I know two things beyond all else: what’s ahead of me is brighter than anything I’ll leave behind, and when destiny knocks at your door, you have no choice but to answer.
Zero.
And you’re here.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” you say. “I think you might have picked up my sandwich by mistake.”