MOKSHA - Timing

I have always liked the phrase “timing is everything.” I like it because it implies that encounters with others are outside of your control. In fact, the times that I have tried to manipulate timing so that I magically appeared at the bus stop when he was getting home from work, or just happened to run into him at the post office, have blown up in my face, been palpably awkward, or just plain didn’t work.

My new favorite guilty pleasure is reading the “missed encounters” section on craigslist. These are tiny gems of timing failures:

“I was getting on the elevator in the lobby, and you held the door for me, around 3:30pm or so on Thursday. I had long brown hair and a dark gray coat. You had a dark suit on, and smelled so, so good. I know we only crossed paths for a second, but would love to chat sometime if you're interested.......”

These encounters leave you reeling, and you can’t often articulate why. You know only that you felt the brief spark of a real connection. And for days afterwards, you ask yourself over and over again why you didn’t say something in the moment. Maybe you were surprised, you were distracted, you were in a rush. There are a million reasons to explain why two strangers can’t form the words to address each other.

Or maybe it’s because that simply wasn’t your moment. We have a hard time recognizing that you can have a chance encounter with an intriguing person that will never develop into more than that. But instead of chalking it up to “it wasn’t meant to be,” there is a part of us that wants to force it into being. The moment seemed so perfect; the guy seemed like the right kind of guy. Everything had so much potential.

So to all the “missed encounter” people who are going to keep pursuing the lost moment: Forge ahead if you must! Post your personal information on the internet in the hopes that the other person is trolling for it. But to the rest of you: be gentle with yourselves, absorb the moment, and then let it pass you by.

And to Meredith with the ripped-up nikes, there is a man on the blue line thinking about you. And to sad, scruffy Hyde Park produce guy, you have a secret admirer in the milk aisle.