A Community of Kindred Spirits

This is about a conversation I had with a woman in a coffee shop, which happened in April, just weeks after moving to Virgin, Utah.  It was also after a few experiences I had that left me feeling displaced and friendless.  I spent a lot of time crying about my decision to move there and one night found myself sharing with my partner the sadness and regret I felt, as well as my need to find color, diversity, and people who were kind to each other.

The next day I got up and ready for the day, with the intent on heading to Springdale for coffee.  For some reason (I believe it was divine intervention), I backed my car out of the driveway and headed to Hurricane.  Since I was tired from crying and lack of sleep, I decided to not fight it, believing I was meant to let my car lead me away from Springdale and to Main Street Cafe.

When I got there, I set up my computer and was disappointed that I would not be able to use Facebook as a distraction from finishing an article I was writing for the Utah State Elks newspaper.  It was already three days late.  I sat and stared at the computer reading the two sentences I wrote, knowing that it just wasn’t happening for me.

A woman sat down at my table with her cuppa.  After a few seconds, she started talking to me and apologized for interrupting.  I smiled and told her I was happy to have her there because I really didn’t feel like writing.  After our introductions, she said, “I can tell you are a kindred spirit, Kristy.”

We talked for about an hour and she introduced me to many women who came into the cafe, and a few that worked there.  She filled me in on their stories and her own – educated women who raised families, some were or had been single mothers, and most were artists.  All were very beautiful and ranged from their 20’s to 80’s, but most were older than me.  She also made a point to tell me that diversity was coming to the area, that if I wait, I will see it happen.

The end to our meeting came quicker than I would’ve liked.  She wrote down her address and phone number on a piece of paper, handed it to me, then verbally gave me directions on how to get to her home.  She told me that I must come over sometime to see her property, which is an old homestead.  On her way out she pulled a “Columbo” move and backed back into the cafe, turned to me, and while holding the door open said, “Kristy, remember…you have a community of kindred spirits here to support you.  Come here for coffee again.”

I looked up to the sky and in my thoughts I told god, “I got it.  I heard.  I can do this.”


About Kristy "Kiki"

I'm just a gypsy with a passion for the earth, people, art, music, photography, and writing.
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