Random encounters
Believing in the good in the world.
I hear his voice before I see him. “Excuse me. I don’t mean to bother you.”
I look over my left shoulder, out the window from where I sit in the driver’s seat in my parked car. A young-ish guy — in his early 30s, if I had to guess — is looking at me, smiling, his right hand held up in a wave.
I don’t know him, and I notice he’s not standing too close to my car, I think deliberately to show he’s not trying to be creepy in any way. Brown curls frame his face, poking out from beneath his baseball hat. He’s dressed in running shorts and a t-shirt. A Garmin wraps around his wrist. He actually doesn’t look much older than my two sons.
“I’m supposed to meet my brother here at the Commons,” he starts to explain, referring to the area we’re at that is filled with people this late Saturday morning — locals and visitors getting brunch, perusing the local shops, walking their dogs and pushing strollers, heading out on the trails. “But I don’t have my phone, I just dropped it off to get fixed, and I need to let him know where the trailhead is, so he can meet me here.”
I instinctively take an assessment of this guy, checking myself for any weird vibe I might be experiencing. As women, we do this, sometimes without even realizing we’re doing it. It’s what we know we have to do, have always had to do, in a situation like this.
Nothing feels off. I can even sense this guy’s hesitation about even attempting to ask for any kind of assistance from me.
I look more closely at his hat, noticing the words “running” and a store or brand name embroidered across the front. Like him, I’m also parked here at the trailhead, having just finished my Saturday morning Pilates class in the studio steps away, and I’m about to head out for a run. I’m holding my phone in my hand, having just texted Joe, who is driving downstate for the day to see his mom for her birthday.
“Are you needing to give him a call?” I ask.
“Yeah, I just would like to call or text him,” he answers, a look on his face that tells me he’s not sure of my answer to his unasked question.
“Well, I see you’re a runner, and I’m a runner,” the words tumble out of my mouth. “So, you’re good people.”
We smile at each other and I hand him my phone through the open window. Other people are nearby, milling about. I decide I am going to trust him.
“Thank you,” he says gratefully, and he stays right there to make the call that lasts less than 30 seconds. His brother is on his way. He hands the phone back to me. “Thank you again, so much.”
During my run, I catch a glimpse of running-hat guy with his brother; they’re across the field, running at a slow-steady pace side by side. And later, after I’ve finished my run, sweat-drenched and driving out of the parking lot, I see them again, talking and catching their breath next to his car. I look toward them as I drive past and he waves. I wave back.
-
I decide to treat myself to a post-run brunch at this great little spot in Traverse City’s Warehouse District, an authentic French-inspired cafe that I first tried months ago with my mom and sister. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get in — they take reservations and my beach town come summer is increasingly full with tourists, plus the sign on the door says they close in another 20 minutes — but the host/cook/maybe owner who greets me at the front is kind and welcoming: “Oh, you have plenty of time! And we won’t really close at 1,” he says, grabbing a rag to wipe down a two-top behind me. “I’ve got the perfect table for one!”
What is it about savoring good, good food and the book you’re reading1, all by yourself? It feels decadent.
Afterward, I wander over to a newer indie bookshop in the Warehouse MRKT, Artemis, and this, too, feels so lovely and soul-filling. I’m on the hunt for a few more items to add to a package I plan to send to Emma soon, and I find a few treasures.
I’m also reminded while I’m here of another random interaction I had recently; I’d been in this bookshop a week or so ago and while glancing at a display of new releases, a friendly woman asked me whether I’d yet read the latest Ann Patchett book, Whistler (I had, I loved it), and before I knew it we were talking about all the kinds of books we each love (and some we didn’t maybe like as much as we’d hoped), and I learned she was visiting northern Michigan to see a dear friend. We talked for almost 20 minutes and were hugging by the end of it. “I’ll look for your writing!” she told me as she waved good-bye.
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I had thoughts this morning of writing to you all today about moments of longing and uncertainty and bittersweet experiences that have been part of life lately. I’ve been holding some heaviness, for a few different reasons. But then I realized, sitting down to write, that the words that came were more about taking notice of other kinds of moments — moments that remind me of the goodness all around — and so I followed where this took me instead.
It’s worth it to take notice.
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Thank you for being here with me today. It’s August already, how can this be? I love hearing from you — please let me know what you’re noticing, and if anything here resonated with you.
I am wishing you late-summer moments of simple joy, unexpected and heartfelt connection, a great book (or two) and time to do the things you love most.
Until next time,
XO
Heather
I’m reading Go Gentle by Maria Semple. It’s an interesting, quirky read so far.
Love those random encounters (especially the non creepy ones!) And how lovely to see all the pics from your trail run at the Commons (my old stomping grounds.) And those berries... what a treat!