I wrote this Facebook post at 10:35 a.m. the day that Jeff and I met:
Tonight: Panel discussion on ag opportunities like agritourism, farm diversity, local food, and more. Writing up some notes this morning. Come join us from 6-8 at the Extension office.
Then I continued typing up my notes and printed them out. I tucked them into my backpack and drove to the Extension office, settled into my seat, talking with my fellow panelists. The event began, and one of the Extension educators present asked us all to introduce ourselves.
And soon after was a moment where my life was poised on the brink of total change, and I didn’t know it.
It was the breath Jeff took before introducing himself to the room, the second it took for him to move his head from looking at the person before him to looking forward at the rest of the group.
In the movies, this moment would be captured in slow motion with a noise like a whoosh.
He gave his name, and everything changed.
But I didn’t know it.
At the end of the meeting, a strange force propelled me toward the back of the room. I made a beeline toward Jeff, politely saying hi to people who stopped me along the way. I couldn’t let him leave.
After we’d met, though, I didn’t think anything more about the piece of paper with his phone number he’d given me.
But there was that Facebook post the day of, and the moment before the introduction, when I had no idea what was going to happen. I just wrote the post and life continued and I figured life would continue in that same way.
And that’s a good thing.