They meet at a conference in Osaka. She is presenting a paper; he is in the audience. They speak briefly during the break. She doesn't think about it again.

Six months later she moves to Tokyo for a new job. Her desk is three rows from his.

They say nothing about the coincidence for a long time. Later, when they've become close friends, she'll look back at the conference, the desk, the city, and feel that something was already decided before she arrived.

In Japanese there is a phrase: 一期一会 no mae ni en ari. Before ichigo ichie, there is en. Before the once-in-a-lifetime meeting, there is the thread that led you there.

En is not mystical in the way superstition is mystical. It doesn't suggest the future is written. It suggests, instead, that our lives have a tendency — that we are drawn toward certain people, certain places, certain conversations by something that works below the level of intention. Sometimes you look back and the pattern is legible.

An old woman told me once that she had loved three people in her life, and that she met all three of them within a single year when she was twenty-six. She had no explanation. She didn't need one. The thread was there. She could see it.

En asks you to look at your life as though it is already making sense — and then watch what shows up.