Four Degrees of Separation

At the wedding reception this weekend, I was introduced to a woman from DC, who was friends with a couple of my friends. She was a DC native and had lived in Minneapolis some time back and came to know my friends who’d gotten married.

“Charles, this is Jessica. Charles used to live in Minneapolis,” our introducer said. (Some of my Minneapolis friends call me Charles.)

“Where do you live now?” Jessica asked.

“DC,” I said.

“Me too. What part?”

“Silver Spring?”

“Me too. What part?”

“By the Metro.”

“Oh my God, me too. I live right off _________ Avenue.”

“Me too!” I said.

“In [Apartment Complex}??”


We swapped building numbers. Turns out she is in the building behind me in the exact same apartment complex. We had to fly 1200 miles to meet neighbors.

Later, we talked about my connection to the U.

“You lived in Middlebrook Hall? When?”

I told her.

“You didn’t know I___ K_____, did you?”

I explained that he was the senior RA when I was there.

“I moved to Minneapolis because I was in a relationship with him,” she said.

My life just does not seem to have six degrees of separation. Further evidenced by the fact that nearly everyone at this reception seemed to have a connection to another guest’s college roommate. The two of them lived two doors down from me in that dorm.

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