A funny thing happened on the way to Mass this morning ...
I went to Seattle yesterday to meet with Fr. C for catechism. Since the friend I was intending to stay with last night was working incredibly late, I decided to get a hotel in south Seattle. It seemed senseless (not to mention ecologically unsound) to make a 200-mile roundtrip twice in one weekend.
I checked out of my hotel this morning with plenty of time to spare, so I stopped in at a Tully's and ordered my double-tall soy latte, opened my laptop, and sipped my hot drink contentedly while checking e-mail and perusing blogs. Just two other people were there.
Opposite from me sat a 40-something man who, it appeared, was doing the same thing I was: enjoying hot coffee on a brisk autumn morning, checking e-mails and sending out some of his own. From his friendly banter with the baristas, I figured him for a regular.
I don't recall precisely how our conversation started, because I am still floored by what happened next. Having never met me and without knowing my name, he spoke with a stunning amount of accuracy about my life: about my faith, spirituality and the journey I'm on, my current challenges and worries, my education, my work, my interests, my writing, my relationships, and very specific and recent heartaches which I've disclosed to very few people. He told me that a friend had mistaken my goodness for weakness.
He had me pegged. Each word he spoke was an arrow that hit the bullseye. "Disconcerting" isn't quite the right word for what this was. If he hadn't been so correct in what he spoke, it would have been creepy. But it really wasn't; it was just true.
Am I that transparent that even a perfect stranger could read me from across a coffeeshop?
I introduced myself before I left. His name is Curtis. He shook my hand and smiled broadly at me before I walked to my car. He told me I'd be blessed, that I'd find what I was searching for.
Anyone else have something like this happen to them? What do you make of encounters such as these?