Chance Connection or Was It?

I was a few months shy of turning 17.

Wide Eyed. Naive. I would have argued against the second descriptor back then. But as I'm sure my teen self would proudly contend, that innocence led me to an experience I wouldn't have otherwise had.

It was my final childhood summer, with senior year and college applications in sight but not yet on my mind. I threw all of myself into getting to know the kids at the New Brunswick, NJ recreation program, where I volunteered as part of a a teen service program (JFTY Urban Mitzvah Corps).

One afternoon, 6-year-old Raheem (pictured far right above) climbed a tree, near the edge of the park. I stayed close behind him but far enough away for him to experience the rush of climbing without feeling me hovering. Only, he got stuck and I felt my arms and legs quiver as I tried to climb up to him, unsure how I would get him down.

I noticed a man a few feet away, observing the scene unfold. Moses, I would later learn was his name, had a tall, wiry build designed for a double tree rescue. To this day, I have no idea of his age, if he frequented the park or how long he had been watching us.

Moses motioned an offer of assistance and helped us both down. As Raheem scampered off, Moses faced me and took my hands in his, locking eyes with mine as our fingers intertwined. The exchange felt intense, meaningful and comfortable. It was non-verbal at first and somehow didn't feel physical either. I felt like he could see into me.

He broke the silence and told me he could tell I was "good with kids." I didn't anticipate the question that came next. "Can I have your address?" Not for the Rutgers University fraternity house, that housed our service program. He wanted my home address. I gave it to him and later wondered how I would explain to my parents why I gave a stranger their address.

A few months later, as I started drafting my college essays, I remember trying to come up with the right topic. On an otherwise uneventful afternoon, I received an envelope, addressed to me, in carefully crafted handwriting. It was from Moses. Two pages of heartfelt, beautifully penned sentiments.

He wrote, "You my friend is as the sun shine and the flower of life. So, keep that smile. Smile my friend. You didn't think that I would ever write. Did you?"

Here is the letter in full. I'm guessing "the other" he refers to is Raheem, my camper. The letter gives the feeling we had a longer conversation than I remember. I wish I could replay it.

Why am I sharing this here? Keith and I are often asked what is the point of connecting on LinkedIn with people we don't know and with people with whom we don't see an immediate reason to connect. You never know why you are meant to connect with someone. I never turn down the opportunity. The possibilities afterward are endless and sometimes are not revealed for months or years.

I wound up writing about Moses for several of my college application essays, combining the feeling of looking into his eyes with something I would do as a little girl (and still do). As a little kid, I would climb up into our bathroom sink, sit on the edge of the counter, legs in the sink, and stare into the mirror intensely until everything became blurry. It was only then when I believed I could see into myself and directly access my thoughts. It was and is a tremendous source of comfort when I need to process something difficult or make a decision.

The day I met Moses, held his hands and looked into his eyes, it felt strikingly the same as staring into the mirror.

I did get to see Moses one more time. I did a reverse phone search of the return address and reached a cousin or aunt of his. She directed me to the soup kitchen where Moses often had meals.

My then boyfriend and I went and spent time with him one afternoon at the soup kitchen. I wish I had asked what inspired him to write me. I wish I could go back and thank him now for one of those experiences that I can count on one hand as being the most memorable. One that taught this once shy kid from New Jersey the power of networking.

Over the decades, I've shared the story with several friends, each time, reliving the magic of the experience. Senior year in college outside of Boston, I told a friend the story. The next day, we went into the city, and sat in the back of a small restaurant for brunch. I asked my friend about the weather outside. When he turned to move the curtain on the door behind him to check, there was a crayon drawing of a tree, taped to the window. I felt Moses' presence.

Moses has popped up in my mind several times over the last few months. Perhaps it's because my son, Seth, is a similar age. When I shared the letter with Seth today, he suggested I find Moses.

I wouldn't know where to start other than to call soup kitchens in the area where we met. I no longer have the envelope. I would love to thank Moses for seeing something in me and for the security his note brought me over the years. I taped the letter to my dorm room walls, brought it with me to my first jobs, and it has survived moves across the country and back again. It's always felt like my good luck charm -- one that could have easily never reached me if it were not for teenage innocence.