On Chance Encounters

the good that comes without asking

We set off on a February morning. The weather is uncertain - the sun, hesitant, the clouds, defiant - as our train tunnels out of the city, streaking through the green. We sit opposite one another, J & I, travelling south to our place by the sea, hungry and in a reminiscent mood. It feels as if we have always sat like this, talked like this, laughed like this, been in silence like this, but we are only four years young today. Still, I imagine we are older, those years before when we were in the making: separate, unaware, yet always walking, stumbling, running, towards each other. Perhaps it is this feeling of lost time, the wanting of more time, that makes me feel this way. But I am being greedy. As J gives way to sleep, sunlight slips through the leaves, dancing golden on the right side of his face. Haven’t I already been given more than I asked for?

We arrive to the hawking of seagulls and their accompanying threat. J jerks and ducks in anticipation: this, the man who said he could single-handedly take on a silverback gorilla, only for a seagull to defeat him. I laugh. “But why are they always screwfacing?” he says. Aside from the jerking and ducking, he isn’t tense here. As we walk, I feel his body fill and empty at the same time, his hand tugs on mine like a helium balloon destined for the clouds.

J’s desire for the sea led us here two summers ago. We didn’t know the place and he says we discovered it by chance - but, when I gather all this place has given us, chance is too weak a conclusion. Take the day and its unfolding. Tell me the chances of having a mutual friend (each) with the barista at our favourite café. The chances the book I pick up in the secondhand bookshop is signed by the author, For Sarah. That we miss an exhibition I desperately wanted to visit and find a kindred spirit in Rose and her shop of treasures? Slim to none, I would bet.

A friend joked that J & I will retire there. “You guys love that place,” she said, echoed by our loved ones when we told them about our trip. It is less about our love for the place but all it holds, the way good comes our way without asking. The element of affirming surprise around the corner. Maybe it has been my embarrassment about sounding too romantic, too cringe, woowoo, that keeps me from saying why, on that shore, we have staked a piece of our heart. But like all gifts the earth reaps, this too is sacred and worthy of protection and care. Saying too much, pointing it out, places too a bright glare on something that illuminates itself. These gifts have been given to us quietly, and so quietly, we say, thank you.

I suppose being in love makes it easy to speak this way, to see the romance in minor happenings and the meaningfulness of their connection. When a place embraces you as our place has, how can you not believe in the inherent rightness of all the steps that led us here? In truth, I have grown soft. Once, I would have overlooked or tossed away such gifts. Now I find myself savouring these mighty moments and their afterglow, often overcome with tears. I like myself this way, salty and alive. Here where the self ends and I give myself over to the living. Isn’t that love? That singular chain connecting each living thing to all the others, listening and responding all because we care so much. Because in these happenings is evidence if I ever needed it: I am loved and I am held. Meaning none of this is chance. I wonder if this is what it means to be invincible.

Darkness falls suddenly: the grey-blue cast as we entered Rose’s shop has been bleached with night. We slow walk to the station, attempting to slow the train back and our leaving. J squeezes my hand. “We’ll be back soon,” he says. I smile. The great beauty of it all.

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Thank you for reading this week’s letter. It means so much for you to spend time with my words, and to be with me as I explore and find my voice and the tone for these letters.

If you feel moved to, leave a comment below on a significant “chance” encounter (I’d love to hear!) or share with someone who would enjoy this 💜

Until next week,

S x

PS. Have you read Wonderings’ new monthly newsletter, The Trove? Each month I send out a roundup of wonderful things from arts, culture and beyond. The first issue went out on Wednesday and you can read it here :)