The healing power of connection

“The strangers I’ve met through random encounters have seemed divinely sent.”

I am discovering my grief ebbs and flows with the seasons. This winter I found myself emerging from a time of isolation when I chose to sit with my grief fully. As I’ve previously written, it took a hand-over-fist effort to climb out of my “grief crevasse”. Now that I’m standing taller in the sunlight of possibility that arrives with the spring, I feel like I’m teetering again on the edge of uncertainty.

I have felt myself hardening as if I’m growing a tough outer shell to keep myself from feeling further pain. A protection mechanism that keeps people at arm’s length. This goes against my basic nature. So I’m working on softening, gently nudging myself to seek out community and connection in this season of new life.

On those days when loneliness strikes, I am trying out a new coping strategy. I escape the heavy feelings. When they hit by forcing myself to leave the house and seek the company of others. This propulsion to move beyond my sadness has introduced me to different neighborhoods all around Denver. The strangers I’ve met through random encounters have seemed divinely sent. I’d describe them as mini miracle workers who lift me out of my brooding solitude.

Finding Connection in Unexpected Places

Most recently, I found myself in an area of Denver that I’d never been before. It was a single block, home to a bakery, a few restaurants and some retail stores. I grabbed a cappuccino to go and walked by the storefronts letting the spring sunshine warm my shoulders. A sandwich board at the corner pointed me left. And I entered the doors of a small flower shop that beckoned me inside.

I was the sole visitor that morning, and the shop owner greeted me warmly. It was immediately obvious that she’d been there for a long time. Every square inch of the tiny space was filled with candles, stuffed animals, Italian pottery, jewelry and dried flower arrangements. All lovingly curated by a seasoned businesswoman. The back area of the store contained a cooler for fresh flowers. And there were gorgeous arrangements on display awaiting delivery.

Always a journalist, I wanted to know the story of the store so I began asking questions. And the woman graciously answered each one. She told me she owned the space and had been there for many years. Talked about other businesses that had come and gone on the street. She said she hoped to sell the real estate and the business to a new owner who appreciated what she’d built over the years.

I shared with her that my late husband and I were small business owners ourselves. Owning newspapers and then car washes. As I opened up about Mike’s death, she shared that her husband was in remission from stage four cancer. But he thought it had returned, and we wondered aloud, which was worse. Losing someone suddenly or having to watch your person fade away before your eyes while powerless to change the outcome of a horrible disease.

Then our conversation turned to Italy. She and her husband, who is the son of Italian immigrants, plan to buy a home in the Puglia region of Italy. They want to live in a small city where they can walk everywhere, and her husband wants space for a garden. I shared my dream of living in Lucca, learning the language and writing my book there. She then showed me a video from her daughter’s wedding, which was held in a little village overlooking Naples, and I found myself wiping away tears as I watched her husband give their daughter away high above the Tyrrhenian Sea.

When I said my goodbyes, the woman invited me to come visit her and her husband in Italy. We didn’t exchange contact information. But I know where to find her. I trust she’ll welcome me again with open arms and an open heart when I walk back through the doors of her charming shop.

We connected over shared experiences — love, loss, marital partnership and a passion for travel. The unexpected vulnerability provided a release like an expressed meditative breath.

The Connections We Don’t Expect

As I write this, I’m sitting in a coffee shop down the street from my house, and I’m eavesdropping on a conversation (another quirk of a recovering journalist). An older gentleman who was sitting alone is now talking to a young woman. What started as an awkward exchange has developed into a heartfelt back-and-forth. The woman is telling the man about her studies at nearby Denver University, and he is sharing wisdom from his time in college on the East Coast. Laughs now ping-pong through the conversation, and they’re calling each other by their first names.

They rise to leave and say their goodbyes, and as I sneak a peek at them, I notice wide smiles brightening their faces. Their serendipitous encounter seems to have been what they both needed, and as William Butler Yeats wrote, “There are no strangers here. Only friends you haven’t yet met,” and I’m discovering that’s true.

Keeping Your Heart Open

If you’re reading this and find yourself in a season of loneliness or discontent, I’d suggest you get out of your normal surroundings and explore a new place. Drive to a neighborhood you’ve never visited before. Walk around, take a seat at a coffee shop, say “hello” to a stranger and see what unfolds next. Like me, I imagine you’ll discover the power of human connection. Even a brief interaction can be enough to lift you out of your melancholy. Especially if you keep your heart open.