We Go Back to Strangers
The ephemerality of human connection
“And then one random night when everything changes
You won't reply and we'll go back to strangers”
~ Kenya Grace, Strangers
The ephemerality of human connection is such a fascinating and heartbreaking reality of life. Whether it be a friend, a partner, a classmate, or a coworker, there is an inherent feeling of loss built into the fabric of the beginning of most relationships. The rare exception is the gem of a bond strong enough to last a lifetime.
I find myself face-to-face with the transient nature of connection everywhere I go.
The shock of going from spending most of your waking hours with classmates to losing touch with most within months of graduating.
The disappointment of yet another “We should get coffee!” turning to a series of canceled plans in a city built on fleeting facades.
The fade to black on artistic connections with whom you built new characters, lives, and worlds, only for those worlds to shatter as you all soon move on to new projects.
The pain of building an indescribably deep connection with someone you meet when traveling abroad only for it to be another item to surrender to the customs officer upon your return.
The silence that replaces the hour-long phone calls with a close friend who slowly stopped replying and faded out of your life.
The reminder of all those people when you see their faces pop up on social media, condensing all your memories into a centimeter-by-centimeter profile picture or a 4x5 post. Is there really a point in having another person to watch your Instagram story until you die?
So then, is it better to just hide from the inevitable pain of losing someone by never meeting them in the first place? Or is it better to have met and lost than to have never met at all?
Just like with human connection, it is the ephemerality to art that endows it with importance. We are taught as performers to live in the ethereal, to honor the fleeting nature of the art we make, and to recognize that nothing we ever create can be done twice. Even if the art lives on in a recording, it cannot again be experienced like it was for the first time. It demands your being fully present to experience it. It necessitates being absorbed with every pore of your body so that its memory lives on within you even after the curtains have closed. Just because art goes away does not mean that it should not be created. Its impermanence does not decrease its value.
A place is defined by the people you meet there. A life is purposeful because of the people whose lives you touch.
My life is a collage of all the people who have passed through it, a patchwork quilt of the memories and lessons I take from each interaction. I would not be who I am without each connection I have been lucky enough to make and each lesson I have gotten to take. Like a flower spreads its pollen, I would like to think I share a little bit of my heart with everyone I meet. That there are fragments of my existence carried in the souls of everyone I cross paths with.
It doesn’t lessen the loss, the shock, the pain, the disappointment, or the silence. But, maybe, just maybe, it makes it a little easier to digest. It makes it a little easier to focus on the joy experienced in the moments we do get to share.
So if you are in my life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime, I am grateful to have you here.