The Top Four Chance Encounters of 2024
"Can I cook my hot dog here?"
I’m enacting a strict hibernation policy at the beginning of 2025. Unless the Eagles go to the Superbowl (very possible) or someone tells me they’re eloping (hmm…) I am going to spend more time in Austin and at home than anywhere else. I’m doing this to build up a reserve of energy for the later half of 2025, when my book comes out and festivals begin and I hopefully meet a lot of new people.
I have met a significantly lower number of people since COVID and returning to Austin. Sometimes, I feel out of practice. There is an art to finding that nugget of conversation that sparks a connection between two, three, or four people. But during four chance encounters* this year, I was able to make connections that soothed my soul and stoked my confidence. Here’s the story behind them.
*A chance encounter, in my definition, is someone who I may not see again. (Okay, when I have the funds to meet #2 again, I will.)
4. The Kid Who Cooked His Hot Dog At Our Camp (AKA Young Scavenger)
Katelyn and I went hiking at Acadia National Park in September. If you haven’t been, book a flight to Boston immediately. It’s a quick drive and you can make stops in Salem and Portland to break things up. The Blackwoods campgrounds where we stayed in Acadia were clean and comfortable, and we even met a new friend.
I actually do not remember this young man’s name. He was maybe 20? He approached our roaring fire (made by Katelyn, always) and asked if he could cook his hot dog there.
Sure, why not?
Over the course of an hour or so (he ended up cooking three hot dogs, if I remember correctly,) he told tales of hiking in Guatemala and falling in love on the road. My sphincter did clench when he said he had been on a missionary trip recently. I understand that proselytizing is like, the whole thing in Christianity, but I prefer not to be the subject of it. If he was testing the waters of Katelyn and I’s reception to Jesus chat, he knew we were ice cold and the fire wasn’t going to help.
I hung up my Osprey a long time ago. I stopped using Couchsurfing before you had to pay for the site. (Forget Mayan calendars. You have to pay for Couchsurfing? It truly is the end times.) Meeting this young scavenger felt like looking for my torch and realizing it had already been swiped from me while I was too distracted by paying a mortgage. The beat goes on.
Cheers to new adventures, Little Kerouac. Keep traveling.
3. Sam, The Bartender at the Jazz Club
I’m in a martini phase. I never liked martinis before but there is something expensive fancy about sitting at a bar in my vintage green coat with the fur collar, drinking a martini, that speaks to the Upper East Side woman I wanted to be when I watched too much RHONY as a child. (Never mind that my vintage green coat was $3.) Maybe I feel more like a writer while drinking a martini. Who knows?
My martini phase led me to looking up jazz clubs when Katelyn and I went to New York this November. Yes, I italicized it, because I hope you read it in your head in a sassy voice: jazz clubs. What’s two friends of Dorothy to do in New York City before they see Oh! Mary on Broadway? Go to a jazz club.
We sat at the bar because the tickets were cheaper than getting a table. The bartender’s name was Sam, a tall young man with a thick mustache. I was in a sassy mood in my vintage green coat, so I greeted him by saying, “We’ve heard so much about you.” (Katelyn is somehow not embarrassed by me. I think.) I apologize to the straight folks reading this, but a pleasant joy sparks between a group of gay folks when we recognize each other. We all get a little twinkle in our eyes, if we’re in a good mood. Needless to say, our bartender friend quickly realized had permission to be silly during the jazz show.
At one point, the leader of the jazz band mentioned that their next song would be about spooning. He said, “And if you don’t know what that is, I’ll explain it to you later.” Sam must have seen Katelyn and I laughing because he brought over two spoons to explain. After our lesson, I said, “So it’s different than soaking?”
Sam put down the spoons. “How did you know I was raised Mormon?”
2. Rayla, The Woman Who Forged Our Rings
How do you not give a shout-out to the woman who designed your engagement ring? Katelyn and I decided to design our own rings at Caleesi Designs on South Lamar because 1) Gina and Bailey did it; and 2) we’re grown adults who know what we want in a dang ring! If you’ve seen our rings you know that Rayla is obviously a master of her craft, but we also just had a hoot and a half hanging out with her as she drew up the rings. We laughed. We shared secrets. We fawned over jewelry like we were in one adult game of Pretty Pretty Princess. I highly recommend that if you are in a couple, no matter what kind of configuration of genders, you go design (or at least pick out) jewelry for yourselves. It’s just plain fun!
1. Travis and Holly, Our Best Friends
There is a character in Sweet Potato Grace named Blaze, who is lightly based off of a pal named Mazen. If you’ve ever heard me talk about Mazen, you’ll probably hear the same refrain: I’m always surprised at how well he knows everyone’s names. Mazen is an easy name to remember, and I don’t meet a ton of new people on a daily basis. But Mazen seems to be quite the social creature and still remembers my name every time we see each other. Impressive!
This is all to say that if you meet me a second time, it does not take that much to completely win over my love and possibly find your likeness in one of my books. If you greet me warmly enough, like Travis and Holly, you get the #1 spot in my chance encounters blog post.
Travis and Holly sat next to Katelyn and I at Katelyn’s niece’s Welcome Dinner in Hilton Head. I actually could not remember why Katelyn and I became such fast friends with Travis and Holly; I just remembered the feeling of thinking, “These people are our people,” but it wasn’t until Katelyn read an early draft of this blog that we remembered.
It was a spooky hotel in West Virginia. Shining vibes. Travis and Holly went for a conference, and while it was fun for them to explore, it was one of the stranger places they’ve ever been. They showed us pictures of them posing, clearly haunted by the vibes of the place. We all laughed about it. By the end of the evening, Katelyn and I were Googling the hotel on our phones and planning a trip to West Virginia.
The next night, we attended the Rehearsal Dinner? Night-Before-Wedding Dinner? Or maybe this was the Welcome Dinner, and the night before was just everyone getting together at the beachside bar dinner? It was at a big beer garden. Travis, Holly, Katelyn, and I all mutually greeted each other with open arms and huge, silly smiles, as if we were lifelong friends who hadn’t seen each other in years.
That was the moment they made #1 on the chance encounters list.
For anyone who is wondering why the heck this one greeting has clearly made an impact on my impression of two people I’ve met over the course of a weekend, I’m glad to know that you are surrounded by enough love and positive encounters to fill your cup. I have a lot of love and positive encounters around me, yet I celebrate any new connections that are made in our increasingly isolating world.
This year has been exhausting, in many ways. I began this year feeling completely burnt out, pouring what little energy I had after work into my book so I could feel some shred of joy amidst my lack of concentration and rotting brain capacity. Between a job that required me to be online, responsive, and juggling up to 48 different websites and apps, and a creeping addiction to social media that I’m just now coming to terms with, I didn’t had many opportunities to “touch grass.” I still feel like I have to mentally fight the urge to check social media or my phone, yet when I do check it, I feel like overwhelming sense of doom. We’re all just being sucked into the Internet, aren’t we? We’re handing our humanity over to AI without complaint. Someone at Katelyn’s company told her ChatGPT wrote his bucket list. I’ve never heard something so depressing since “baby shoes for sale, never worn.”
In 2024, any moment of true, genuine connection felt like an act of resistance. Any moment of presence away from social media felt like a revelation. Any recognition of each other’s humanity, whether it’s a giggle or an invitation to talk over a campfire or just remembering someone’s name, was a reminder that there is so much more beyond the screens.
I hope that 2025 brings more chance encounters, more connections, and fewer ChatGPT bucket lists. How are you going to be a human in the new year?
What a delightful read! Equal parts personal reflection, wry humour, and heartfelt longing for true human connection. I love how you weave the spontaneity of these “chance encounters” in with your excitement (and occasional trepidation) about what’s to come in 2025. Your plan to hibernate so you can recharge before the whirlwind of your book release feels like a thoughtful act of self-preservation. One that’s honest about our need to step away from perpetual busyness and truly “touch grass,” as you say.
What resonated with me most was your acknowledgment that every spark of genuine conversation, every moment of seeing and being seen, feels like a small victory in our increasingly digital world. From the curious hot-dog-cooking traveler who reminded you of your own pre-mortgage wanderlust, to the jazz-club bartender who briefly turned spoons into comedic gold, your stories highlight how those unexpected, unguarded connections are sometimes the sweetest.
Your commentary on social media and its creeping hold on our daily lives rings especially true. I appreciate your candour about feeling tethered to the constant online swirl, and your gentle challenge to all of us: how are we going to reclaim our humanity in 2025? It’s a necessary question, and one I’m carrying forward after reading. Thank you for reminding me that the best parts of life from laughter at a bar, to a new friend’s name etched in memory, to the quiet glow of a campfire, can’t be automated or replaced. They simply have to be lived.