The Life I Never Dreamed I’d Be Living

The life I never dreamed I’d be living.

At 78 years old, here I am: a white woman sitting silently across from people, of all ages, most of whom I have never met, on the streets of Chicago—primarily in Black communities—and in one predominantly white community in Geneva, Illinois.

I never imagined this would be part of my life.

And yet, here I am.

And yet, here they are.

We come together without a complete understanding of why we are here.

There is something about sitting in silence. An experience so powerful that, at times, it transcends words.

You cannot rely on conversation to bridge the distance between you. You cannot explain yourself or ask the other person to explain themselves. You simply sit.

You are there.

They are there.

And for a little while, you share the same space.

And somehow, that space becomes sacred space. A safe space. A place simply to be.

I am 78 years old. I am white. I carry a lifetime of experiences, assumptions, and questions, along with the deep awareness that there is still so much I do not know. The people sitting across from me carry their own lives, their own histories, and their own truths.

Most of us are strangers to one another—until we no longer are.

Something happens in that silence.

There is a recognition.

Perhaps even a remembrance.

I know you.

I see you.

I see you in me.

I find myself wondering what this experience means—not just for the people sitting across from me, but for me.

What am I learning?

What am I beginning to see, or perhaps to see differently?

I don't pretend to have the answers.

I only know that I am here, doing something I never dreamed I would do, in places I might never have found myself sitting in this way, with people whose lives may be very different from mine.

And yet, in that moment, something becomes very simple.

We are two human beings sitting together.

We are not separate.

May we see our shared humanity.

This is the life I never dreamed I'd be living.

And perhaps the most remarkable part is that I am living it now.

And I am not living this life for myself alone.

I am living it for all the people I reach—directly and indirectly. For the people who sit across from me. For the people who may hear about these Silent Encounters. And for those I will never know I have touched.

That is the beautiful mystery of the ripple effect.

We rarely know how far a single moment travels.

We may never know who was changed by a glance, a touch, a small acrylic red heart placed in the palm of someone's hand, a moment of silence, or simply by our willingness to be present.

We may never see the circles spreading outward from something we did or said.

But they are there.

And I know they matter.

There is one moment that has become a thread running through all of my Silent Encounters.

It happens when the person is ready to go on with their day.

They begin to rise from the seat, and I motion for them to wait a moment.

I reach for their hand.

I open it, palm up.

And gently I place a small red acrylic heart in the center of their palm.

The first thing that amazes me is that they allow me to take their hand.

Without hesitation.

There may be questioning in their eyes, but never hesitation.

We are sitting close, eye to eye.

And then I motion to their heart.

And to mine.

It is a love offering.

Given.

Received.

Intimacy.

A deep knowing that needs no explanation.

Many people thank me. Some tell me they will keep the heart.

I have no doubt they will.

Because the heart is not really about the small piece of red acrylic resting in their palm.

It is about what passed between us before it ever arrived there.

The silence.

The trust.

The recognition.

The moment when two strangers stopped being strangers.

A reminder that we are not separate.

That underneath our different histories, our different communities, our different experiences, there is something we share.

A heart.

A human heart.

My heart is overflowing with love.

And perhaps that is what I am learning at 78: that there are still things to learn, ways to see, and experiences that challenge what I thought I knew about myself and the world around me.

I don't know where any one of these moments will go.

I don't know who it will touch.

I don't know how far the ripple will travel.

But I know this:

I am willing to be part of it.

This is the life I never dreamed I'd be living.

And I am deeply grateful that I am.

Radical love,

Rachelle