The Way

There was a time, that caused a sudden shift that forever divided my life into before, and after. Everything changed the day I stopped letting my expectations determine my reality, the day I sacrificed myself, and the day that I found the way. I met a man named Mark, and our paths did not cross in vain.

That day began like any other, the sound of taxis bringing me back to my studio apartment as I struggled to remember the comfort of the fluid reality I was awaking from. Back then, I longed to return to the freedom, and control, I could only find in my dreams. Alas, it was time again to submit myself to forces at be, as my life was continuing to feel uncontrollably directionless. Money was tight and the prospect of a job seemed just as distant as it did my first day unemployed, 444 days earlier.

The year was 2006 and it was a difficult time to be a travel agent. The career I had worked so hard at making for myself seemed less relevant every day. As the world transitioned into a digital age, JFK was busier than ever, yet my business had long sent it’s mayday. It was cold and snowy Sunday in the city, and that day, at the time I needed it most, I met the person I never knew I needed in life.

I met my best man at the laundry mat. I never really noticed other people like I had noticed Mark. His soul had a presence, and he carried nothing on his shoulders while standing on the shoulders of giants. He greeted me with a smile, and I instantly forgot my frozen feet, and the frost on my ears.

“Buenos dias, mi amigo,” he said, just audible over the sounds of a few dryers turning. Taken back, I tried to recall the little foreign language I had learned, in what felt like a former life.

“Hola, compadre,” I responded, before I could even figure what to say. It was as if a lost part of my former self was eager to greet an old friend. Mark’s smile grew and he put down a small, bound, little black book and walked over to me.

“Habla English?” I asked him in a broken spanglish that I imagine so many of my clients had used on their family vacations.

Mark laughed and said, “Yes! I don’t even speak Spanish yet.”

“Yet?” I inquired. I suppose unfamiliar and intrigued with his exuberant confidence. He told me that when he had arranged enough money he was moving to a small town in Mexico. He shared about his website for the door-to-door laundry service that he started, about teaching himself spanish. Because of the multitude of trips I had planned to the nearby country I truly knew nothing about, I was quite curious as to where.

“Tulum,” he added before I could respond, and he went on to tell me about beautiful white sand beaches, magical cenotes and rich Ancient Mayan culture. I asked him when he was going and I’ll never forget, he said, “that, I will leave up to the Universe.” He eagerly strode back to his perch on the big steel folding table and ushered me over before reopening the little leather notebook he had just been holding. There were drawings, lists, monologues and graphs all scattered on those first two pages. How does he keep track of his notes? I wondered and as if he had read my mind, he said, “I’ve found for me, the magic of writing comes not from re-reading, but simply from putting your thoughts, ideas and wishes out there. When you write, you make your energy known, and the ever abundant, infinitely creative Universe listens. I know that there is a reason we met this morning, and if you start recording the meaningful moments in life, you too will notice these synchronicities.”

“Synchronicities,” I asked

“Those crazy moments in your life when the most peculiar, inexplicably coincidental, things happen, and you are left wondering, what the hell are the odds? Just observe, be grateful, and you too will see who, and where, you are meant to be.” As if on queue, the three dryers that had been running chimed in a rhythmic succession and Mark stood from his seat. I sat next to where he had been sitting on that folding table, and as he loaded his last laundry bag I asked him “where can I get one of those journals?”

“I thought you might say that,” as he threw the clothes on his shoulder and bent down to pick up a backpack by my feet, “I’ve carried this for a few weeks, but you, my friend are meant to have it,” He handed me a little leather log, identical to his own, and with it between our hands, he reached in for a hug and whispered, “nos vemos pronto, compadre — see you soon.” With that fittingly familiar greeting, we parted ways, and the pessimisms, and skepticisms, that had clouded my vision for years were behind me. I knew it in my heart then, and I felt it in my gut, I would see my friend Mark again. When I became a grateful observer I learned that I too was meant to visit in Mexico. I began loving being again. I became a student of life, and flourished. Since that day my greatest wishes come true because I have learned to retire my reservations and simply listened.

Today, 3 years, 240 pages later, I reach the end of my first journal and the experience has been priceless. For you, Mark, and for this gift I will be forever grateful. I am all the better person and without it I would not live in such wealth. Since out synchronicity we have raised a grand total of $20,000 dollars to help support the impoverished and ill structured communities of Tulum and I have realized my destiny.