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missed connections

I have a subway crush.

My bestie Trey and I DREAM of this stuff. It’s a regular old day, you rush onto your regular old train and wham. There he is. He looks up, you share a smile. Every so often you peek up and realize he hasn’t stopped looking at you. You keep sharing glances. You keep sending smirks. And when he reaches his stop he approaches you with some tragic line that somehow feels so intensely appropriate in this sweaty subway rendezvous as he smoothly slides you his number and disappears into the New York abyss.

I found all of my subway dreams coming true on the A train at 5:18am.

Twice a week, I work a 6am shift. This used to mean a deathly 4am alarm, but I’ve pushed my luck further and further as I’ve discovered that the perfect train comes like clockwork at 5:18 every Tuesday and Friday morning.

A few months ago, I realized the train wasn’t the only thing that arrived like clockwork. In the same car, every Tuesday and Friday, my dream man pulled into the 168th Street stop. Everything about him is my classic type—he’s tall and lanky, fair featured, with a sweet smattering of freckles across his adorably goofy face. He looks very Irish to me, which is another win for him, and I’ve decided he probably has an accent. I’d like to think his name is something like Riley, or Quinn, or Nolan. The perfect specimen to bring home to the McCartan clan.

What initially caught my attention is the fact that Nolan always wears the same silly little cap. Every time I’ve seen him, he’s been sporting a hat that makes him look equal parts hipster and like he was unfairly born in the wrong time period. Sigh.

So after a few weeks of continually spotting his cute checkered cap, I started mustering up some courage. On a Tuesday I inched a little closer. On a Friday I sat across from him. On a Tuesday I sidled up next to him. On a Friday I said good morning.

About a month into my Nolan Conquest I realized we had more than just the 5:18 train in common. We had an entire commute in common. I work on the East side, so I get off at Columbus Circle and walk to 57th/7th, where I hop on another train heading Eastward. I walk the same path, methodically, every single day. On this particular day, Nolan and I must have disembarked at the same time, or perhaps he tried a new path, or perhaps I looked up for the first time in a while because suddenly there he was, in his sweet little hat, just steps in front of me on my walk towards 7th Avenue. My heart was racing as I walked in stride with him. And I was simply beside myself when he proceeded to enter the station at 57th Street and wait for the same train car I wait for every Tuesday and Friday morning.

From there, we got off at the same stop together again on the East side, and continued to walk identical paths for several blocks. Just three blocks before my destination, he peeled off and continued walking in a separate direction. I’d like to think he works at a trendy coffee shop or local bakery on Lexington.

After going on this entire journey with him, my mind was made up. The next time I saw him, I had to say something.

That was several weeks ago.

My schedule has fluctuated slightly, and perhaps he got a new job. But for weeks I’ve looked for him whenever I’m on the 5:18 train, and he’s nowhere to be found.

Until this week, when I saw him in another station altogether.

First I spotted his hat. My heart skipped a beat. It took my mind several moments to catch up—I wasn’t used to seeing him out of context, in the middle of the afternoon. Almost involuntarily, my legs started carrying me in his direction. I knew he’d be heading to the front of the train—he always rides in the first car. I had made myself a promise, and I knew I had to stick to it. Today was the day I’d finally introduce myself to my subway crush.

There he was, basking in the heavy summer MTA air. I took a deep breath. And at that very moment, Nolan’s left hand reached up to scratch his beautifully freckled nose, revealing a thick platinum wedding band on his ring finger.

And that was that. In an instant, my subway romance came to a close in what felt like the ultimate missed connection.

* * *

I feel like everyone has that professor in college whose only real contribution is the fact that they’ve been there for generations. My alma mater has a few of those. One day at school, one of these “greats” shared a nugget of wisdom which, at the time, I thought was the most profound thing that teacher had ever offered. I’ve since learned that this quote actually comes from Oprah, and likely before that came from a founding father or an ancient philosopher or Jesus. The adage is this:

“Luck is where preparation meets opportunity.”

It’s a pretty fail-proof theorem, and really eliminates the whole “luck” factor altogether. It puts the power back in your hands. If you do the work, and keep putting yourself out there, you’ve got the special sauce to have the Universe start conspiring on your behalf. But you really need equal parts. You can prepare and prepare as much as you want, but if you aren’t out in the world meeting and greeting and creating opportunities for yourself; all that preparation becomes useless. And when opportunity comes knocking on your door—if you haven’t laid the groundwork, if you aren’t ready to embrace it, if you can’t recognize the incredible thing in front of you… you’re going to miss out.

In the six (!!!) years that have passed since my professor bestowed this knowledge upon us, I’ve come to realize that this formula is true for more than just luck.

I think love is also where preparation meets opportunity.

I’ve been on both sides of this equation not quite working out. I can think of times when I’ve been pining for a lover, when I’ve taken all the time I’ve needed to set myself up really well as an individual in order to be a really great partner, when I’ve had the space in my heart and my schedule to support another human being. But for whatever reason I wasn’t meeting people, or calling them into my life, or perhaps putting myself out there enough. There have also been plenty of times when really, really wonderful men have walked into my life and I haven’t been ready for them. I’ve been caught up in my own stuff, or too afraid to commit, or hung up on someone else.

My missed connections.

My subway crush is a beautiful metaphor for all this. When I saw the flash of that wedding band, I couldn’t help but laugh. How long had I been fantasizing over this guy, preparing and preparing to speak with him, when all along he wasn’t my opportunity?

You really need both to make the magic happen. I’d say I’m someone who falls more on the over-prepare side than the create-your-own-opportunities side. But I’m learning that putting in that extra work, trying to fit into some perfect mold, and giving away any degree of your power only does you a disservice when the opportunity simply isn’t knocking on your door.

Is there anything more tragic than a missed connection? What are we doing on this earth if not to connect with one another? It’s so painful to have a longing to commune with someone—be it a friend, family, a potential lover or a subway stranger—and not have the recipe to do so.

So while it appears that it isn’t going to work out for Nolan and me, I still have hope. In releasing him, I’m giving myself permission to take another look around that 5:18 train. I’m bringing my preparedness to the endless other opportunities that are trying to connect with me. And I’m embracing that sometimes it just takes a little time and patience for the math to add up.

Alison McCartan in New York City

a gal on the go trying not to miss any connections

📸: Tay Cooley/Cooleyography

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