Today I met an Oliver.  And whenever I meet someone with this name I pay attention.

The name gained significance when I was 20 years old and living in Pacific Beach, going to school and living with my best friend.  A bit boy crazy, young, and kind of silly, we created fictitious boyfriends for ourselves, choosing names that we thought were fitting for the kind of man best suited to each of us.  She was convinced that my soul mate was an Oliver.  I was certain her heart’s companion was a Luke.

Sometimes we would reference these imaginary men.  For instance I may be leaving the house on my bike and casually, with all seriousness, say to my friend as I headed out the door, “See you later…I’m heading down to the beach to watch Oliver surf.  Come by later and see the sunset with us!”

Towards the end of my school year I struck up a friendship with a man in my Spanish class.  In his early twenties (and newly married), he was healing from a surfing accident and walked with a cane.  Never had I seen someone make a cane look so good.  Our connection was through plants – a passion he’d discovered when gardening filled his time instead of waves.  We’d wander the campus of San Diego State before class, taking in the flora and marveling.  He was the kind of guy that used leaves for bookmarks and grew pineapples in pots in his bedroom.  Our friendship was always platonic, but I held a secret crush.  My girlfriend would say of him “too bad he’s married, he’s such an Oliver.”

A few years later I was living in Vermont and decided to take a summer road trip with two women friends.  They both were vegan, one was really into UFOs and aliens and we all loved listening to Digable Planets in my Subaru as we drove through the night.  We committed to ourselves and each other that on our journey we would honor our intuition and stay mindful of synchronicities.  By way of Maine and then New Brunswick, we found ourselves at the house of Anne of Green Gables on Prince Edward Island in Canada.

We did the tour, enjoyed the grounds and then loaded up in the car to leave.  As we pulled out of the parking lot a gritty Volvo bearing British Colombia plates pulled in with a car full of interesting characters.  As we drove away, I strained to see them as they grew smaller behind us.  I felt physically pulled to their car but had no logical reason for why.  As we drove back on to the main road away from Anne’s house I told my friends how I was feeling.  They boldly made a U turn and headed back for the parking lot just as the Volvo was pulling away.  We caught up to them and waved them down and when they stopped, I got out to see two men and a woman smiling at me from inside the car.  I asked, “Do we need to talk?”  Their reply:  “Sure.”

It was then that I met Oliver.  Oliver Luke, to be exact.  And I paid attention to that, though didn’t know what it meant (and still don’t).  From there we all traveled together for several days with an easy kinship, caravaning with them all the way to Montreal.  We eventually parted ways but Oliver and I stayed in touch.  In my early twenties and full of wanderlust, that Fall I drove away from Vermont on a cross country sojourn to California where I was to catch a plane to Kauai.  Circumstance and an unexpected surgery waylaid my plans.  As soon as I came out of the anesthesia, I knew I wasn’t going to Kauai.  Instead, British Colombia was calling and Oliver was my only friend in BC.

I did spend some magical time in BC – some of it with Oliver – though that was 15 years ago.  I’ve lived here on Kauai for the last 14.  There’s no circumventing destiny and the Garden Island and I clearly had our fate.

And today, when I was entrenched in work, absorbed in the confines of my email Inbox and a long to-do list, I was given an invitation.  Would I like to join my friend in looking at a greenhouse?  It seemed off-course from my tasks at hand.  Unnecessary.  I had too much to do.  Despite my excuses, I could tell my friend really wanted me to go.  And then I had a moment.  Not one of the Anne of Green Gables kind that actually pulled at my stomach.  But just one of those quiet whispers – an  inner voice kind of message:  maybe there is something there for you.  Go.

So I went.  What we got was a warm reception from a man named Oliver who toured us through his clifftop paradise.  His abode was his creation.  Lush ferns and vines, orchid blooms, mossy stones leading from one verdant water pond to the next.  We were led through a tropical haven of exceptional beauty and grace – art with function, spaces that inspired.  Oliver opened doors beyond the greenhouse and gave us a tour through the palatial home that housed rich, golden wood, ocean front views and incredible art.  We were entranced in beauty.

After thanking our host – “you can come back anytime” – we drove away amazed.  My friend said, “aren’t’ you glad you came?”

As I replied in the affirmative, I thought to myself – I’m glad that I listened.

How are fictitious boyfriends, surfers with canes, Anne of Green Gables, Volvos from BC, intuition, North American islands, a tropical oasis and men named Oliver connected?  I have no idea.

But if I’m following a thread (and you loyal readers know I am) I’d say these details are worthy signposts along the way.  I’m not ready to assign words yet.  But for now, I’m paying attention.