One Life One Encounter

A few weeks ago, wandering the humid, humming streets of New Orleans, I came across a woman seated behind a vintage typewriter. A small hand-painted sign beside her read:

“Poems for Passersby — You choose the topic.”

I watched her for a while — the way her fingers moved with quiet certainty, the clack of the keys echoing like a heartbeat. When it was my turn, I asked her to write about change.

She asked me a few questions, and I told her about Guatemala — about how I was preparing to leave behind the familiar, to trade comfort for curiosity, to learn a new rhythm of living. She nodded softly and began to type.

Whe she finished, she handed me an index card and I read:

Seeking Allison:
Maybe I’ll find her in Guatemala
Where a new language will drip from her lips like honey
The percussive beats of her new spoken word will spill into markets like new colors over fruits
Maybe I’ll find her next to cool waters lapping up onto shores of this new life
Calling me to look at the very same stars and moving me to journey beside her on our way to the moon

I must’ve read it five times, then sat there in silence. It felt like she had written it for me — but also as me.

Because that’s exactly what this season of my life feels like:
a search for the version of myself that’s been waiting — quiet and patient — beneath the noise, the expectations, the layers of “should.”

I am not seeking reinvention so much as reunion.
With the part of me that moves gently through the world.
With the part that believes joy is a form of wisdom.
With the part that still looks up at the night sky and whispers, more.

Maybe I will find her in Guatemala.
Maybe she’s already been here all along.

-A