Walking down West Street

The entirety of West Street in Boston is about 150 yards. My office is about 2/3rds of the way down the street from the Common and takes about a minute to walk.

It is important to understand how short the block is, and how inconsequential the time to walk it is. I walk it every day, several times usually, and most often do not even notice that I'm doing it.

This morning, however, I did notice.

There was no reason to, except that there was. I was passing the "Bridge over troubled water "  when i noticed a shiny navy blue Toyota Camry pull up to the curb, a fairly pretty Hispanic woman kiss a lanky disheveled white man in the front seat, opened the door, and then for the briefest instant we both saw each other. Not some sort of weird sexual look, just the look of two random strangers walking by.

The moment was trivial.

It has no meaning beyond this: Every second of each of our lives are connected.

There is now, and will forever be, that one instant where that woman and I saw each other. If she becomes famous or I do, there'll be a vague recollection of familiarity  

I was fascinated by the way everything slowed in that second, and I noticed everything about it. The taste of the air, the smell of the sunlight, the color of the slapping footsteps of strangers feet on the pavement. 

Then, as quickly as  I noticed it, it was gone forever. The who of her doesn't matter, but the who of me after her -- what of that?

Who am I now that life paused then went on?