Invisible Threads

human connection is our destiny

Early morning view from the train, somewhere in Florida

Autumn lends itself to contemplation and hibernation and sometimes melancholy. You hunker down, drink tea, figure out which apple cake to bake, read books (like Gabrielle Zevin’s phenomenal Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow) and you think.

Last week, after flying from Seattle to Albany, NY and spending a few days in the Hudson Valley, a friend and I drove to Lorton, Virginia, where we took the overnight Auto Train to Sanford, Florida and then drove two hours more to St. Petersburg.

That trip began the day after I received some unsettling health-related news and I appreciated the distraction that travel provides, though not the jet-lag-related insomnia, which can give a person way too much time to brood in the wee hours.

But I was with a friend I have known since I was 19 years old - a staggering 43 years - and her family. My friend is a grandmother now. Her first baby was the first baby I ever really knew. Playing with his baby made me marvel at both the passage of time and the continuity of life cycles. Her second baby, my godson, was born during the years I worked in Vietnam. He eventually moved to Vietnam and married there, which makes me feel a godmotherly connection. Her youngest baby and partner are foodies like me, and they provide me with inspiration and craft cocktail recipes.

Another old friend I reconnected with.

Live long enough and you’ll most likely have your people — the ones you’ve shared adventures and milestones with. Loyal friends who have seen you through thick and thin or, in current vernacular, your “ride or die” peeps.

Amass enough life chapters and you’ll also have a bunch of acquaintances with whom you shared experiences, maybe only briefly. From time to time, they randomly reappear in your life.

I recently reconnected with a Foreign Service couple that I remember fondly. Over dinner in Seattle, we tried to figure where we had met. It was not in Thailand, as I had thought, nor did we overlap in India. Eventually, we discovered that we had spent a few pleasant days together in Nepal, enough for them to have made a favorable impression on me (though truth be told, I was less memorable). I am happy to have them back in my life.

I don’t travel back East much. I fled the East Coast in 1979 and, apart from a few stints living in Washington, DC, I never looked back. From my first trip to California in 1968, I’ve always known that the West Coast is the place for me.

We settled into our train compartment with a bottle of Spanish wine and snacks, but no corkscrew. In the compartment across from us, a handsome couple pulled out a bottle of Portuguese wine and their snacks, and they cheerfully lent us their corkscrew. When I said I was visiting from Seattle, the wife told me she was originally from Washington State. Like me, she had fond memories of a glorious trip to Portugal, hence the wine. It was a promising start to the 16-hour journey.

It didn’t take long to discover that our new friends had very different political views from ours. We managed to redirect the conversation away from guns and conspiracy theories and keep things light, though they eventually closed the door to their compartment.

I was definitely out of my bubble.

That’s the thing about travel. Despite the ubiquitousness of nearly everything, there are stark regional and individual differences that don’t just show up in the form of a Proustian cookie or really good barbecue, but also in people’s beliefs about faith, liberty, and identity.

On the train, my friend likened our tight sleeping arrangements to spending the night in an MRI capsule.

I was tossing and turning when I received a WhatsApp message from a friend in Europe alerting me to some more potentially impactful news. We chatted and then I messaged with another European friend about what this news might mean.

At that moment, I was grateful for time zones and technology that enabled me to connect with people, instead of worrying alone through that long uncomfortable night.

Florida is very different from Seattle — the weather, the wildlife, the politics. I found the heat and humidity oppressive, the snippets of political commentary I overheard on the beach off-putting, and the spiders and alligators ominous. If I am honest, I have to admit that I sometimes found it hard to get past my discomfort and find the beauty.

But it was there.

On my last day in Florida, Hamas launched a horrific attack on Israel that has resulted in devastating human suffering on a massive scale. Amidst the shocked outcry, some people predictably have planted themselves firmly in their idealogical corners, unable to separate their politics from their humanity.

Back home, I had several encounters, planned and chance. Someone in my book club had spoken to her family in Israel that morning. Someone I ran into on a dog walk was anxious about an upcoming medical procedure, scheduled just a few days after mine. I caught up with someone I hadn’t seen in years at the grocery store. She hopes her adult kids will move out of her home soon. At lunch, an old friend told me her mother is exhibiting signs of Alzheimers. Friends in two different countries reached out on WhatsApp to commiserate over bad news one of them had received.

At the hospital, that great equalizer, people were coming and going in joy, anxiety, and sorrow. There’s no polarization in waiting rooms and examination rooms.

Mangroves at Weedon Island Preserve

A friend recently told me about the Asian legend of the Red Thread. There are various versions of it, mostly having to do with lovers destined to find one another, but I prefer a broader interpretation.

Humans are part of an intricate tapestry of invisible threads that connect us. We are destined to learn from one another and to find our way to one another’s hearts.

The First (and Best) Thing I Cooked This Week

Being away from my kitchen made me fidgety. Once the jet lag subsided, I was eager to get back to cooking. As you may know, I love trying new recipes so much that I rarely make the same thing twice.

Here’s one of my “ride or die” recipes.

Note this recipe is meant to serve 2-4. I usually double it and J and I eat nearly the whole batch in one sitting.

Miso Charred Brussels Sprouts, adapted from Adventures in Starry Kitchen

For Chili Miso Sauce: 3 T sugar; 1/2 t white miso; 3 1/2 T light soy sauce; 1/2 T rice vinegar; 2 t sake; 1/2 T chili garlic sauce

Brussels: 1/2 lb Brussels sprouts, halved; 1/2 T butter (or clarified or brown butter); 4 T Chili Miso Sauce; kosher salt and pepper

1. Dissolve sugar in white miso and soy sauce in a pan over low heat. Next, add rice vinegar, sake and chili garlic sauce. Mix well. Remove from heat and set aside.

2. Toss Brussels Sprouts with a little bit of oil in a bowl; lightly salt and pepper while tossing.

3. Bring a pan up to high heat and add butter and Brussels sprouts once pan is hot. Saute 2-3 minutes until you get a nice even and crispy char across all the Brussels. If Brussels are dry, splash some water to rehydrate them. Next, add Chili Miso sauce and stir fry for another minute , making sure Brussels are fully coated in sauce.