Last week was a struggle for me. By Friday I had gradually contracted into myself as tightly as any turtle, but it wasn’t a comfort. I felt caged. I felt restless. I felt lonely. I’d been home all week, giving the house a power clean and tending the gardens. Other than chatting with my husband and on a couple of phone calls, I’d had little people contact. I had avoided working out for several days as well.

To coax myself into a better state, I arranged coffee with a colleague. We caught up on how her job was proceeding and what my Austin venture had been like. She left, and I hied myself to Curves and put myself through a vigorous workout. Then I decided to drive to Los Gatos in the afternoon to scope out the Unitarian Universalist church there (it was tiny!) and then to treat myself to a pot of tea at Peet’s. The barrista, cheerful and attentive despite the busy pace in the shop, carried the pot and cup while I toted a maple walnut scone and my books to an outdoor table. I sat warming in the sun, sipping tea, and listened to the numerous conversations occuring around me. Sparrows hopped nearby, scrounging for crumbs. I brushed my plate clean and observed as they bravely bounded under my table and between my feet to retrieve them. Such small creatures they are, all bones and feathers; one wonders how they survive.

At some point I decided to open my journal and create a list of 100 things that make me happy. Now, I was seated outside next to a plate glass window, the other side of which was the inside of Peet’s; there was a tall counter with bar stools next to the window. As I pondered my list I happened to look up and glance at the window. A woman of about 50, elegantly dressed, smiled at me and motioned toward my notebook. I smiled in response and returned to my task.

Several minutes later a friend called, and we began chatting. Half an hour later, while we were still talking, the woman left the café, smiled at me, and asked, “What number?” I excused myself from my friend and said, “Pardon?” She said, “What number are you on?” “Oh!” I replied, “I reached number 48. Then my friend called. It’s a list of 100 things that make me happy.” She followed with, “That’s a wonderful idea! How creative! Number 49 should be ‘talking on the phone with a friend.’ Have a good day!” She smiled and walked away.

I told my friend what had occurred, and we reminisced. It was such a friendly moment of connection! When I lived in Austin, this same friend and I would get together at cafés to talk and color in coloring books or draw. People would pop over to our table and comment on how much fun it looked. Rather than generate a pang of homesickness, this cheery encounter made me feel a little more at home, here, in Silicon Valley.