I’ve been having strange encounters on the streets of Philly recently.
Normally they’re friendly encounters. I’ve run into friends from high school, old coworkers, things like that. Sometimes they’re not so friendly encounters—for example, I passed a dead raccoon on my way to pick up a hoagie (no, I didn’t call the city to pick it up but I probably should have).
But today I had another encounter that was a bit more profound.
About two hours after eating an absolutely massive hoagie from Dolores (I recommend it if you haven’t been there), I made the risky decision of going on a run. Surprisingly, my stomach held it together.
I made it about a mile in, and I was feeling pretty good. I have been struggling with IT Band Syndrome the past couple months, which was causing pain on the outside of my left knee. After some rehabilitation, I’ve been able to overcome it (I think), but I was still weary about going on a long run, so I paced myself slowly and jogged gingerly.
About two miles in, I had settled into the run. The cold air around me started to feel warmer as my body heated up. I ran from South Philly into Center City, through City Hall, and onto the Benjamin Franklin parkway.
Around mile three is where my strange encounter occurred. I was running along the parkway, towards the art museum (for those unfamiliar with Philly, it looks like this), when I was momentarily stopped by someone taking a photo.
In fact the person did not stop me, I just happened to notice that they were taking a photo, and I did not want to ruin their photo, so I jogged in place for a moment. The photographer had their camera pointed at the doorway of a white Philadelphia Trolley Works bus, and there were a few people standing around the doorway.
I eventually realized what was going on. This was a wedding party, and the bride and groom were about to get off the trolley, and the photographer was trying to capture the moment. The photographer glanced over at me, noticing that I was jogging in place so that I would not get in the way of his photo, and gave me a slight smile.
I was waiting for maybe three to five seconds when the groom stepped off the bus. He wore a white tuxedo jacket and a smile on his face. I could tell he was having a great time, trying to soak in every moment of his wedding day. He looked up to the doorway of the bus. The windows of the bus were slightly tinted, so I could not see inside. I waited in anticipation for the bride.
A moment later, the bride stepped off the bus. She had a bright, radiant smile across her face despite the fact that she was undoubtedly cold (it was 35 degrees and she was wearing a wedding dress with no jacket).
All of a sudden, my jaw dropped. I immediately recognized her as someone I went to highschool with (for the sake of the story I will call her Brittney, but that is not her real name).
I had many classes with her, but I have not spoken to her in over eight years since we graduated. I stood there in a state of shock, unable to bring any words to my lips. My mind raced as I quickly processed the potential scenarios.
Do I say hello, causing a distraction in what is otherwise one of the most important days of her life? Do I keep my head down and pass by? Keep in mind that I was three miles into a run, I was sweaty, my face was red, I was huffing and puffing, and above all, I look much different than the 18-year-old version of me that she would remember. I’m not even sure she would have recognized me. It’s funny—she looked exactly the same way she did in highschool.
Despite the many people standing around, nobody had noticed me aside from the photographer. Everyone who belonged to the wedding party had their attention on the bride and groom. The photographer gave me a nod and a smile as if to say: thanks for your patience, you can pass now.
So I kept running. I ran right past her. I didn’t say hello.
Immediately I regretted my decision. I ran for about 30 seconds up the parkway before I realized I made a mistake, and I turned around to see if they were still there. At that point, they were standing in the middle of the parkway, taking beautiful wedding photos with City Hall in the backdrop. I decided not to bother them, I missed my opportunity.
The whole ordeal happened in less than two minutes. I now had three miles on my run home to think about what had just happened.
Brittney was a top student in highschool. Some kids got by with natural talent and intellect, but she put in a tremendous amount of hard work and ended up above them. But with that scholarly success came a lot of stress and anxiety. The truth is that there were not many moments when I saw Brittney cheerful in highschool. We would occasionally joke around in class, and I could maybe get her to smile every now and then, but she placed a lot of pressure on herself to get good grades, and I got the sense that it was mentally and emotionally taxing on her.
Seeing her this joyful, on her wedding day, was a stark reminder that everywhere there are storylines happening in parallel. By sheer coincidence, I got to read one page in one chapter of her story, and it happened to be an important page.
By resigning myself to being nothing more than a passerby, a stranger, a ghost, I realized that I got to witness a genuinely pure moment in her life. If I would have said hello, the situation would have been tainted. The conversation would have devolved into small talk—exchanging pleasantries, sharing congratulations—and likely would have been a bit awkward and unfulfilling.
It was a reminder for me that we don’t always have to insert ourselves into the center of every story.
As I neared the end of my run, with endorphins flowing in full force, I felt exceedingly grateful to know that things had worked out for her. That she had found a nice guy, that she had fallen in love, that she was married, surrounded by friends and family, happy.
Congrats to the bride and groom.
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I’ve been having strange encounters on the streets of Philly recently.
Normally they’re friendly encounters. I’ve run into friends from high school, old coworkers, things like that. Sometimes they’re not so friendly encounters—for example, I passed a dead raccoon on my way to pick up a hoagie (no, I didn’t call the city to pick it up but I probably should have).
But today I had another encounter that was a bit more profound.
About two hours after eating an absolutely massive hoagie from Dolores (I recommend it if you haven’t been there), I made the risky decision of going on a run. Surprisingly, my stomach held it together.
I made it about a mile in, and I was feeling pretty good. I have been struggling with IT Band Syndrome the past couple months, which was causing pain on the outside of my left knee. After some rehabilitation, I’ve been able to overcome it (I think), but I was still weary about going on a long run, so I paced myself slowly and jogged gingerly.
About two miles in, I had settled into the run. The cold air around me started to feel warmer as my body heated up. I ran from South Philly into Center City, through City Hall, and onto the Benjamin Franklin parkway.
Around mile three is where my strange encounter occurred. I was running along the parkway, towards the art museum (for those unfamiliar with Philly, it looks like this), when I was momentarily stopped by someone taking a photo.
In fact the person did not stop me, I just happened to notice that they were taking a photo, and I did not want to ruin their photo, so I jogged in place for a moment. The photographer had their camera pointed at the doorway of a white Philadelphia Trolley Works bus, and there were a few people standing around the doorway.
I eventually realized what was going on. This was a wedding party, and the bride and groom were about to get off the trolley, and the photographer was trying to capture the moment. The photographer glanced over at me, noticing that I was jogging in place so that I would not get in the way of his photo, and gave me a slight smile.
I was waiting for maybe three to five seconds when the groom stepped off the bus. He wore a white tuxedo jacket and a smile on his face. I could tell he was having a great time, trying to soak in every moment of his wedding day. He looked up to the doorway of the bus. The windows of the bus were slightly tinted, so I could not see inside. I waited in anticipation for the bride.
A moment later, the bride stepped off the bus. She had a bright, radiant smile across her face despite the fact that she was undoubtedly cold (it was 35 degrees and she was wearing a wedding dress with no jacket).
All of a sudden, my jaw dropped. I immediately recognized her as someone I went to highschool with (for the sake of the story I will call her Brittney, but that is not her real name).
I had many classes with her, but I have not spoken to her in over eight years since we graduated. I stood there in a state of shock, unable to bring any words to my lips. My mind raced as I quickly processed the potential scenarios.
Do I say hello, causing a distraction in what is otherwise one of the most important days of her life? Do I keep my head down and pass by? Keep in mind that I was three miles into a run, I was sweaty, my face was red, I was huffing and puffing, and above all, I look much different than the 18-year-old version of me that she would remember. I’m not even sure she would have recognized me. It’s funny—she looked exactly the same way she did in highschool.
Despite the many people standing around, nobody had noticed me aside from the photographer. Everyone who belonged to the wedding party had their attention on the bride and groom. The photographer gave me a nod and a smile as if to say: thanks for your patience, you can pass now.
So I kept running. I ran right past her. I didn’t say hello.
Immediately I regretted my decision. I ran for about 30 seconds up the parkway before I realized I made a mistake, and I turned around to see if they were still there. At that point, they were standing in the middle of the parkway, taking beautiful wedding photos with City Hall in the backdrop. I decided not to bother them, I missed my opportunity.
The whole ordeal happened in less than two minutes. I now had three miles on my run home to think about what had just happened.
Brittney was a top student in highschool. Some kids got by with natural talent and intellect, but she put in a tremendous amount of hard work and ended up above them. But with that scholarly success came a lot of stress and anxiety. The truth is that there were not many moments when I saw Brittney cheerful in highschool. We would occasionally joke around in class, and I could maybe get her to smile every now and then, but she placed a lot of pressure on herself to get good grades, and I got the sense that it was mentally and emotionally taxing on her.
Seeing her this joyful, on her wedding day, was a stark reminder that everywhere there are storylines happening in parallel. By sheer coincidence, I got to read one page in one chapter of her story, and it happened to be an important page.
By resigning myself to being nothing more than a passerby, a stranger, a ghost, I realized that I got to witness a genuinely pure moment in her life. If I would have said hello, the situation would have been tainted. The conversation would have devolved into small talk—exchanging pleasantries, sharing congratulations—and likely would have been a bit awkward and unfulfilling.
It was a reminder for me that we don’t always have to insert ourselves into the center of every story.
As I neared the end of my run, with endorphins flowing in full force, I felt exceedingly grateful to know that things had worked out for her. That she had found a nice guy, that she had fallen in love, that she was married, surrounded by friends and family, happy.
Congrats to the bride and groom.
