Right there/all right

Has this ever happened to you? You are sitting around a table, or in a meeting or at coffee with someone, and your eyes just can't get enough of their face. And I'm not talking about romance here. In fact, the moment I'm about to describe has nothing to do with romantic love. It's a connection thing, a sense that the world is all right because this particular person is within your line of sight. Your eyes drink them in, and there is gratitude and a whisper of relief. The intensity of the feelings may vary, but the result of the emotion is the same. That person is right there, and you are right there, and that is enough for all to be right with the world.

This has happened a lot this summer: easy, peaceful time in mountains with K, meeting MW's new baby, reuniting with former colleagues in Austin and SF, visiting family, and every single minute with my goddaughter. It's also happened here at the Summit. And it's happened with an odd mix of people, some obvious and some not at all. The least obvious of these encounters happened yesterday in a workshop when I looked around and realized the guy sitting two rows up was a writing teacher I have always admired a ridiculous amount. Mind you, we have spent, maybe, two hours total in each other's presence over the past seven years. But when I saw him, I nearly fell out of my chair. Because he was right there, and I knew he had taken a similar path through the organization, moving from founding English teacher into various leadership positions, then running for the hills only to return to a different school in a different state. I couldn't stop staring at him (in what I very much hoped was a non-stalking way). When we finally realized who the other was, I felt as though five minutes had passed since we'd been in touch rather than five years. Please understand that this is not a person I had thought of even once in all that time. I am not attracted to him on any level other than through the bonds of common experience that connect us and brought us together in that moment. But those are powerful bonds, as I've come to realize this summer.

I've found myself hoarding these experiences of connection, tucking them away like acorns of stability in prepartion for the raw day when I will inevitably feel battered or shredded. I will remember a walk on the Appalachian Trail or the smile of my friend's long-awaited son or how this teacher looked from two rows back. I'm hoping it will bring back that feeling of right there/all right enough to stay on track until the craziness passes.