Out of billions of alive humans, there are but a handful that I share my life with. There is my book group, there are those familiars who pass by when I am in the garden, there are the few with whom I drink tea or wine.
All of them are but a very small percentage of all the humans with whom I might have shared time and space. These are the relatively few people I have encountered, and yet they are my lucky life line to my own kind.
They are the ones I share stories with, the ones with whom I react to the happenings of my life. These are the people I tell about my plants, my discovery of Alzheimer cures, my plans for the next week.
They are really not many, only a few out of the many people I sit with on the bus or in the large classroom at the University. These are the few with whom I make genuine contact.
There are also those dozen or so people with whom I share a truly loving relationship. They may be few and it is hard to define the chance happenings that have brought us together. My relationship could have taken so many other turns, yet this is how it has turned out.
As few and chancy as these connections are, they are my portal to the rest of humanity. They have become open to me and I to them. And because of that I am aware of what it means to be human. I am connected to the many, by chance.