From the Same Planet

Sometimes you see someone and feel you know each other instantly.

A friend said last week that sometimes she sees a baby in a store and "feels seen" by that baby.  Since she said that, I find myself noticing babies more, and she's right: some look away, some look back with knowing eyes.

Another friend said yesterday that what we all want deep down is "to be seen" for who we are.  Maybe that's what drives us to write blog posts, e-mails, and books, to tell each other things we don't tell everyone we know.

A young gay man at a drive-through window always greets me on the speaker with a hearty voice: "Hello, my friend!"  Instead of giving me the Senior Diet Coke I order, he gives me a huge one, no charge.

When it's early morning (after I get up the first time and before I go back to bed) and if the line isn't too long, Tony and I chat a bit.  He's always incredibly cheerful even at the end of his graveyard shift. We part with his words, "Have a good day, Sweetheart."  I may only drink ten sips of my giant drink, but I carry his sweetness throughout the day.  He has the soul of a grandmother.

Yesterday at the grocery store, I saw a young family--a grandfather, two parents and a little girl--hugging the checker ("Aunt Brenda") and the grocery bagger. They were obviously not related by blood, but seemed to have known each other a long time, and their faces glowed when they spoke to each other. Brenda was black, the family was white, and the bagger was Middle Eastern.

Mike has a theory that we are "from the same planet"--meaning that we recognize and see each other in ways that other people might not see, that we knew each other long before we met.

Whether it's true or not, it's a great image that reflects the connection we have with certain people--on the road, in classrooms, at parties, in stores. Random connections. Instant recognition.  We know each other from somewhere outside of ordinary time.

I had a great phone conversation yesterday with my friend Deb.  We rarely see each other; she's busy completing her Ph.D. But every time we speak, I feel that amazing, energizing connection we've had since we first me--when she was a student from Georgia in a freshman comp class I was teaching.

Another friend and I share the same first name.  She's young enough to be my daughter.  We met on the floor in Border's seven years ago.  She calls me Peach, and I call her Wildflower.  Linda and I are definitely from the same planet.

I could name many people here, but the blog post would be too long.  I come from a large unruly planet.

Sometimes, we can go years without seeing the people who come from our planet, but when we re-connect, it's as if no time has passed.  We pick up right where we left off, or better. When we're together--whether for a minute or a month--it's like Being Home.