Today we’re half way to Arizona: our annual family holiday visit with my wife’s side of the family. So far, thanks to a departure time of 4am and compliments to my wife’s smart planning, the journey has been relatively stress free.

An idea that at first, the groggy-eyed hour of 4am was not that appealing to me. But now, in the early morning temperature, over 50% traveled to our destination, I will never again complain to an early drive call.

Dogs and all, my whole family is in the vehicle. The Dodge Durango that, just yesterday was acquired as I met Drew and Julia, is the perfect ride for a 500 mile drive. And if any of you have traveled with young children and pets, you know the routine. Stop every ninety miles or thereabouts for pee, food, stretching, and an event I have fatherly titled, the running of the kids. Got to have a sanity building discharge of energy on the long treks. That all so necessary moment of mental healing as, after cramming half dry Subway sandwiches into our mouths, we pull into a rest stop. And as predicted relief on cold December metal toilet seat, blood circulation with the traditional cramped back hands on car stretch, and the token correction from the maintenance man as we missed seeing the no dogs in this area sign. A tongue lashing that went unnoticed by our Scotty. Thanks tons Rocky!

Even though we are in an incredibly open space with no apparent walls, other than the rest room buildings, all around us are people.

Immediately I’m hit with a weird vibe. A feeling like the eyes of everyone are upon me. Maybe it’s sleep deprived paranoia? Perhaps the weight of the camera backpack I wear everywhere. Yes, even into the bathroom. Guessing, for all the parents, I look like a predator of some sort. But whatever the case, I’m feeling very out of place.

Wherever I wander, it’s as if I am Moses parting the red sea, and as an ocean of people parts away from me, it’s obvious that most are distancing themselves from me.

So with that parable of Moses in my mind, I take a breath. And regardless of how visible the non-verbal rejections are, I know there is a reason for my being here. 

I submit. Let go of any predetermined targets. Ask myself if I’ve been looking the wrong way the whole time I’ve been here. Tell my mind to stop overpowering the voice that directs me in 365. Give myself permission to not force a stranger meeting moment. Thinking, If I am not supposed to meet someone here, that’s what is meant to be. To acknowledge that I will find the right person, with the right message, at the right time.

My family waiting in the car, I decide to give up. Enter Pat and Bruce. A couple who parked three slips away from where we parked, warmly return my eye contact.

I first approach Pat, tell her about 365 and its mission. I share the first question, What words of wisdom, or council, do you have for the world?

Her eyes open, “Let me ask Bruce?” She goes to her van, “Bruce, remember what we were just talking about? ‘Words for the world,’ check out what this guy is doing, we should do it.”