Landmarks

My college roommate turned 40 last week and I attended a fab 80s style party at her house last weekend, at which I saw her sister, her book club friends, and her sister-in-law --- a true blast from the past. It got me thinking about our lives so far, and my own 40th birthday coming up in a few months.

When we were seniors in college, my applications to graduate school were all in by January, and I was accepted in April. Therefore, spring term was really a formality for me and I took a few BS classes to fulfill my last requirements. The week before finals all of my friends were studying, and I was playing hookey (per usual) and enjoying the long-awaited spring weather in upstate NY. I tried my best to recruit my friends to come play hookey with me, but they all insisted on hunkering down at the library to study (the nerve). So, I took off solo in my car and ended up - where else? - at Ben & Jerry's.

Ben & Jerry's just happened to be next to a laundry mat. While waiting in line for my cone, I overheard an elderly woman ask if she could use the telephone to call a cab, again. She was next door doing her laundry and needed a ride home. She had already called the cab company several times, to no avail. For some reason I asked her if I could give her a ride, and she accepted.

We walked out to the car and she had a light raincoat tied around her waist. She laid it down on my front seat and explained to me that it had been a long wait ... it was then I realized she'd had an accident. I was so embarrassed for her and assured her that my front seat had seen much worse during the past 4 years at college.

The space between our two bucket seats, and our two lives, spanned the distance between two continents. Two worlds. Two universes. I was at the beginning of my life: graduating from college in just a few days, heading to graduate school in a faraway city, taking on a new career, planning to conquer the world. She was at the end of her life: just trying to catch a ride home from the laundry mat was a struggle.

And then we started to talk.

I learned that she was a recently widowed college professor. She and her husband, also a professor, had both graduated from Cornell. They met and dated while undergrads, and went on to marry and have successful careers. She was one of an elite group of women in her day to get a PhD and go on to become a tenured professor. She was smart, accomplished, and terribly impressive.

Her house was just a few short blocks away and I helped her carry her laundry basket to the front door and we parted ways, never to see each other again. When I climbed back into my car, I realized that the space between us spanned -- not continents, not worlds, not universes -- but simply a few decades.

And now 20 years of my life have flashed by in the blink of an eye. I realize that I will soon be closer to 60 than 20. (Is this possible? Apparently the answer is yes.) And I hope that in the next 20 years I will learn even more from the people I come into contact with every day. The casual strangers who shape your life and make you realize that none of is alone in this journey we call life.