As I got off the bus today, I saw a guy in his early twenties pacing in excitement at the corner of 23rd/Mission—low riding baggy pants and hood. His white headphones swung as he talked into the phone, not looking at anything in particular.

“And then I said…’What would you say if I asked you out?” he was smiling. “She said, ‘You’re very sweet and I would say yes.'”

His happiness was infectious and I couldn’t help but smile in the darkness, lit by the dim street lights. At the same time, I wondered why our own cowardice keep us from saying things that we really meant until it’s too late.

This is how it works. A construction of ingenuity, social engineering, and timing.

For more than 2 months, I had wanted to go to see Foster the People, but due to sheer bad timing, I missed the ticket sale for both of the shows that they were playing at the Fillmore. “No tickets available” was what the website blared on the screen.

But as I have learned, there is no challenge that exists that is not insurmountable. Everything is negotiable. There is always a way. There is always a choice.

And so this is how Chris and I got tickets.

He spent most of the day, stalking craigslist and stubhub but tickets were extraordinarily expensive. They were double, triple the face value. Frustrating things happened—prices suddenly went up by $30 during the transaction and craigslist sellers constantly flaked

It was less than 90 minutes before the concert and there was a line outside. I had biked up from the Tenderloin in my sky blue bike—one that I felt that could be easily stolen. I was waiting with anxiety with the line of people—mostly younger than me, Caucasian, alternative.

Finally, he pulled up in my car. Initially, he wanted me to ask the line of people to see if there were any tickets available, but that terrified me as I glanced at the growing line. After some discussion on the sidewalk awkwardly, we switched roles. He took my bike and I took the car to find parking. I found parking easily within two blocks and jogged back in my black boots.

And there he was with my bike, pacing attempting to call me. I yelled his name, but he didn’t look up so I rushed over. He patted his shirt pocket and in a hushed whisper, he said, “I got them.”

We walked hand in hand up past the front doors where the bouncers were maintaining peace despite the increasing excitement. With his hat, Chris nodded to one of them—a bulky Native American guy with long hair with gentle eyes.

He had made small talk and then made an indirect request eliciting pity, “I just can’t find any tickets at all for tonight!”

And he was able to get a pair of tickets for face value, no ticketmaster fees with only 64 minutes remaining until the doors opened.

To a child, you can say don’t and they will obey (most of the time).

But to someone much older, it seems that it has to be come within. Otherwise, it becomes deep-seated guilt, blame and fear.

Or even do.

I have an internal rebel inside me and at my age, reverse psychology works on me even as I am aware of it.

But with the right trickery and presentation of potential awards, I can potentially be convinced.

Sure there are times that I want to flee—to be forgotten completely. I don’t want to be noticed. I want to be the quintessential definition of a lone ranger and ride off into the sunset with only a shadow disappearing into the distance. They would wonder who? and it doesn’t matter because I would be seeking my own thing.

That’s my belief in strength, but really I want to be remembered. I want to make an impact.

For some, it’s about relating to someone’s interest. For others, it’s about being present. For others still, it’s about showing generosity and deep helpfulness. But in all, it’s about being myself.

I used to hesitate, but sometimes now I have nothing to lose.

So I will be myself. I will tell you that I don’t like sandwiches, mushrooms or melted cheese. I won’t hide my anxieties of asking for help in stores or coordinated dancing. I will show you my inability to keep my room neat and organized. I won’t wear makeup or uncomfortable shoes. I will ask you the questions that I always genuinely want to know about you. I am that and more.

Five years ago, I signed the lease to my apartment in the Mission.

At this very moment, I am standing at the kitchen counter of that very same apartment—in the middle of a brief interlude of baking at night.

But FIVE years. This apartment has seen many of things—in particular:

Sometimes when you meet someone, you find one of the following:

Similar hobby or interest (e.g. food truck hunting, cycling, same music band)

Mutual friend which often leads to let’s all make a reason to hang out or see you at the next event of the mutual friend

An event that both of you attended

Some strange instant connection that indescribable—from any gender, not necessarily romantic in any way; but it’s never awkward, it feels right

It’s the last one that is rare. Sure the first few are about similarities, but it’s the last one that…it’s instant that it’s overlap in so many ways. It’s so mutual. And afterwards, you are in a trance—we are soulmates.

Evidence #1
“I smell cologne,” a coworker said as he got his desk. Everyone else around me agreed and gave all the guys heavy stares. I sniffed the air and shook my head. I don’t smell anything!

Evidence #2
“Is there paint?” someone said approaching me. I sniffed around me and smelled nothing. Nothing from the walls, no stickiness protuding. No…I don’t think so.

Evidence #3
I was excited by the idea of a roast chicken for my dinner, having furiously rubbed in spices, sea salt and freshly grounded pepper. 425°F for an hour. I settled in my chair, responding to personal emails, aimlessly browsing facebook and scanning my twitter feed. Then there was the unmistakable squeal from the smoke alarm. I dashed out my chair, glancing up at the blinking light putting one hand helplessly to my weak right ear. Then arriving at the oven, I turned it off and opened the door. Only 30 minutes had passed and a little smoke (or was it steam?) billowed out. The smoke alarm stopped. I smelled nothing.

Did I lose my sense of smell? Out of the 5 senses…is that the one that we don’t notice when it disappears?

There is this strange moment when you find someone makes the same choices that you do. That it’s not just one, two or three. But it’s many similarities.

But more so, when other people have been telling you how similar you are to someone else.

For the third time this year, I met a twin.

But I have my doubts—how many people do I meet every day that live within the same block, love food carts, attend eclectic events in the city, have similar decision-making re: job, work in user experience, know so much about social media and all many SF startups? A lot. I think.

Randy Pausch was the first one to say it. At least in a way to have an impact on me.

Like Steve Jobs, he was an inspiration. Like Steve Jobs, he made a speech that changed people. And like Steve Jobs, he had terminal pancreatic cancer.

Sure both men had different impacts—through teaching for one and through products for the other.

At the very end, it’s the same message that brings us inspiration. To believe in yourself. To follow your childhood dreams.

What do they talk about? Nothing spectacular. Parents, death, former boyfriends and girlfriends, music, and the problem with reincarnation when there are more people alive now than in all previous times put together (if there is a finite number of souls, are we living in a period of a 5-to-1 split?). – Roger Ebert on Before Sunset

I have watched that movie several times now—with various people. Some groaned, “Boring” or kept their lips tight to say a polite “It was good”.

But to me, it has been that odd instinctive connection you have with someone. It’s rare. It’s natural and uncontrived. It’s so much beyond meet cute.

But I wonder how often that happens with someone that you have “known” for a long time. Is it that one moment you suddenly have a strange connection…and you want to spend time with them over and over again? I wonder how many couples often meet each other like that—beyond just surface attraction.

I remember a conversation in 2006 that I had about horchata and taco trucks. That was the moment for me. Innocent, untouched, and familiar.