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Writer's pictureLeah Jones

Synchronicity

I have one friend to whom I am constantly having synchronicities with. Or coincidences. Coincidence spares us from having to determine a meaning. The latest was over the past week and it has freaked me out.

For Example:

He drove me home one night after an open mike and we were listening to Groucho Marx in the car. Who listens to Groucho Marx in the car? Nobody our age. The next morning my clock radio goes off and it is NPR, as always, and the anchor is saying, “Let’s take a look at the revolutionary comedy of Groucho Marx.”

After returning home from London, I say to my friend Cathy, “From now on, I only date Isreali men.” The next night I run into him at a bar I’ve never been to in my life. Did I mention he is one of the few Isreali men I know in Chicago?

The most recent was this week. I was watching a news report on the Tsunamis–who wasn’t? Suddenly I thought, “what if he’s there? I know he’s on vacation, but what if he’s there?” I prayed for his safety then and again he was in my thoughts during the silent prayer at Shabbat service last night. I also emailed him a slightly hysterical email asking him to write me as soon as he was safe. I convinced myself he was really somewhere safe–like the Gaza Strip or Arizona.

Today he wrote me to thank me for my concern, but he had been out of harm’s way in Australia.

What the fuck? I didn’t know where he was AT ALL and had no reason to believe my worry had any grounding in reality. And he was so much closer than I let myself imagine.

These are the things that are strengthening my belief in god, but confusing my brain–why do I only have these synchronicities with him?

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