They say coincidence is lucky. I’ve touched on this before after reading the highly recommendable book Beyond Coincidence. I recognize that much of coincidence comes from being open to the idea of it, to being observant and aware of the myriad connections present around you.
Sunday night I pulled out the travel journal I used to record my 1998 trip to Italy and Greece and my 2004 trip to England and France. About a third of the journal, in which I plan to write about our upcoming honeymoon to Costa Rica, is still blank.
I was reading through passages about the 2004 trip that I took with my friend Beckie. I literally laughed out loud while reading about how we bumbled through our London to Paris Eurorail adventure (my favorite line: “Then Beckie started crying.”), how we couldn’t understand any English in England, and how we were proud to be misidentified as German tourists.
I read about the day I was searching for an internet café in London’s Picadilly Circus and passed by a woman whose nose was bleeding profusely, the blood pooling on the sidewalk and splattering onto her sneakers. A man walking past pulled a handkerchief from his pocket (his breast pocket, I’m sure) and handed it to the woman. He stayed for a moment to make sure she was okay, and then proceeded on his way. I made a note that I was very impressed by the kindness of this gesture, because he sure wasn’t going to get his handkerchief back. It was a lovely, British thing to do.
So you see the connection. I always liken the awareness of coincidence to learning about idioms in elementary school. Once you learn what an idiom is, you’re suddenly surrounded by them; your ear is honed to them.
And, to my delight, this is a lovely segue to the other item I wanted to mention. My last post makes note of the fact that the word “accident” is but a tiny shard in my internet Persona image. Lo and behold, the next day the non-internet universe set out to prove that “accident” is a present, though often dormant, component of me.
Friday evening Jesse and I attended an Amos Lee concert at the zoo. We decided to depart toward the end of the encore, along with throngs of generally slow-moving concertgoers. Jesse broke into a jog, weaving through the crowd. I grabbed a free rolled-up zoo poster from a volunteer and we practiced our relay hand-off skills while continuing to run. Let me emphasize that I do not run. But I was running nonetheless.
We came to a set of stairs and we both ran up them, one at a time. Jesse shot up ahead and took the next set of 4 stairs in one big leap. Oooh, I’m going to try that, I thought.
Yeah, my feet didn’t even clear the third step. Instead, they got caught up in the stationary concrete and I went sailing smack down onto black asphalt. Jesse said he’ll never forget the sight of me crumpled on the ground, a look of disappointment on my face rather than pain. What a stupid move, the look probably said. A nice woman nearby asked if I was okay. “Yes,” I replied, in a fed-up, easily misunderstood tone that I now regret.
I hobbled the rest of the way out of the zoo and stopped to check myself over once we got to the MAX platform. I pulled up my pant leg and saw that I scraped up my knee pretty well. An INJURY! Glory be. “I can’t wait to blog this!” I said. I took photos with my cell phone to memorialize the rare and special occasion.
Jesse said I was acting “young and free.” That’s the last time that’ll happen.
