Threads of life
I've always loved airports. They are life nodes, physical fulcrums whereby history leverages destiny. The air within is surcharged with a fascinating mixture of anticipation, excitement, impatience, and frustration. The resulting cocktail is highly volatile, and quite intoxicating. I'm always eager to enter a place that somehow seems immune to the rampant apathy that plagues the rest of the world. Airports are an inexplicable haven that soothes my soul.
On my way back from Chicago, as I was waiting in line for customs, I met a young woman. Her name was Jen and she had just flown over 15 hours from Soho, Korea to meet the love of her life. They met online about 7 months ago and this was going to be their first live meeting. He was waiting for her downstairs, just a few hundred feet away. She had a febrile, haunted expression on her face that betrayed an inner war between exhaustion and excitement. We must have spent over a half hour talking as we waited. I listened to her story, smiling, but I knew it before having heard it: it mirrored mine in so many ways. She told me how her family and friends were suspicious, how they cautioned her not to get overly enthusiastic too soon. I smiled. "They can't understand, Jen. You know, inside, that he's the one but they can't know that yet. They won't see that for a while yet, and even when they do, they'll never understand how you could have known from the start." She smiled back. We saw in each other's eyes that we both understood perfectly.
In the great big tapestry formed by the intertwining threads of human lives, two threads crossed briefly that night. I will never see Jen again, and yet, I feel a sisterly affection for her. We exchanged about something special to us, something we both know so few people will ever understand. It made me wonder how many other couples out there are as fortunate as Jen and John, as fortunate as Nick and me.
Later that night, I was driving to my mother's. My new CD "Gamos" was playing. It's a collection of medieval wedding music, mostly Turk and Yiddish. For an instant, an image flashed in my mind. I saw Jen and John in medieval garments, dancing in a sun-bathed field among flowers and cheering guests. It made me laugh.
Good luck, Jen.
On my way back from Chicago, as I was waiting in line for customs, I met a young woman. Her name was Jen and she had just flown over 15 hours from Soho, Korea to meet the love of her life. They met online about 7 months ago and this was going to be their first live meeting. He was waiting for her downstairs, just a few hundred feet away. She had a febrile, haunted expression on her face that betrayed an inner war between exhaustion and excitement. We must have spent over a half hour talking as we waited. I listened to her story, smiling, but I knew it before having heard it: it mirrored mine in so many ways. She told me how her family and friends were suspicious, how they cautioned her not to get overly enthusiastic too soon. I smiled. "They can't understand, Jen. You know, inside, that he's the one but they can't know that yet. They won't see that for a while yet, and even when they do, they'll never understand how you could have known from the start." She smiled back. We saw in each other's eyes that we both understood perfectly.
In the great big tapestry formed by the intertwining threads of human lives, two threads crossed briefly that night. I will never see Jen again, and yet, I feel a sisterly affection for her. We exchanged about something special to us, something we both know so few people will ever understand. It made me wonder how many other couples out there are as fortunate as Jen and John, as fortunate as Nick and me.
Later that night, I was driving to my mother's. My new CD "Gamos" was playing. It's a collection of medieval wedding music, mostly Turk and Yiddish. For an instant, an image flashed in my mind. I saw Jen and John in medieval garments, dancing in a sun-bathed field among flowers and cheering guests. It made me laugh.
Good luck, Jen.
posted by Nathalie at 11:03 AM
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