I make my way to the restaurant and get a table for one, jostling my way through the busy chaos of Times Square. It’s somewhat strange, being surrounded by people yet being completely alone. The ache of loneliness and anxiety rise up in me as I stare down the barrel of another night with only my thoughts for company.

It is my turn to be seated, and I find myself next to a two-person table with a man who is also dining alone. We exchange greetings and look to our menus. I can’t recall who initiates the conversation but by the time I am ready to order, we have both turned in our seats, engaged in a lively chat.

Just before our food is to be delivered, he asks if I mind if he joins me. I don’t, and so he moves his drink and utensils to my table and our conversation continues. He’s from Germany, in New York on a business trip. I’m from Denver, here for a women’s leadership conference. The conversation is fluid and easy. We laugh, share pictures and soon begin to share our passions and dreams. There is an ease that comes with conversations with strangers…perhaps because there is no investment and so there is less fear of rejection. We know that we won’t ever cross paths again and so the truth that is hard to share with those closest to us comes to the surface. We talk about our families, and the roads we’d not taken in our lives. We muse about the myriad of choices we’d each made that led us to this exact time, this exact moment, in this exact city sitting next to each other. We wonder if either one had made a different choice, at any point, would we be here? What if I’d married my college boyfriend? What if he’d taken that job instead of the one that led him to his wife? If one of us turned left instead of right, would we have the families, the lives, the stories we have now, or would that one choice have changed everything?

We eat, pondering the things that have led us here with some twinges of sadness for the randomness of living that opens many doors but allows us to walk through only one. When our meals are finished, we share a dessert and coffee. It's over too soon and we pay our bills and exit the restaurant. The bubble of intimacy we created when we peeled back our skin to show our deepest selves to a stranger was burst on the sidewalk. The sounds of people laughing, horns honking, and music playing comes rushing back into our awareness and the sweetness of the moment is gone.

Despite the intimacy we just shared, out here, a hug would feel weird. We say our goodbyes, and part ways. He heads into the rest of his life, and me to mine.

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Lisa can be found at her website lisavallejos.com