The summer after graduating from college I spent two months traipsing around Europe. After five and a half weeks I found myself walking through London’s Hyde Park smoking a Vanille sprinkled with the last of my Amsterdam treats.

I had a bushy new beard, a backpack filled with clementines, and only a couple days left until I had to return home. I had spent the morning by the Italian fountain contemplating into my journal about not returning to The States. I was feeling a little sorry for myself for having a non-refundable ticket.

So, there I was walking through the park across that huge field where there are chairs set up as though they were facing an ocean watching the clouds and hearing the birds and taking in every person walking on the paths around me when I spy a man in a suit probably only a few years older than I walking briskly towards me down my path.

That we were on the same path, or that he was walking briskly, or in a suit, or seemed as young as I was not unusual.

But when we came within a few feet of each other he turned his eyes from the ground up to mine and said, “You’re lucky.”

My mind reeled as I realized he was right.