On April 20, 2004, we were just beginning the process of adopting Dani. The exact source of the quote below is lost, but it can be found all over the Web, especially with reference to adopting from China. So, I sent this piece, based on the quote, in an email to my wife, who forwarded it to a few of her friends. One very special friendship was started due to this piece. But possibly the most remarkable thing about this piece is the date on which I wrote it. April 20, 2004 is Dani’s estimated (and now, official) birthdate. It’s possible she was being born the very moment I wrote this.

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“An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but never break.”

I imagine the thread wound around hills, trees, buildings, and other threads, in such a way that you can never really tell which direction the thread is leading you. You just have to follow it, in whatever zigzag pattern it’s stretched itself into. And, since you have many threads, and many duties, you will sometimes work to untangle a thread while tangling others. At other times, you will untangle many threads at the same time — these times will feel very good and right.

The hills, trees, and buildings that tangle the threads in my picture of it are symbolic — metaphors for the barriers in life that continually change our direction; making straight, simple paths rare, and widely wandering paths the norm. It’s rare, when we take a path, that we really know where it will lead us, except in the very short term. Even when the end is what we expect, it’s very, very rare for the path to remain unchanged for the duration of the journey. The way I see it, these threads are paths — you can follow them — but, when you stop following them, they follow you, exacting no price other than the fact that they may get more complex if you leave them alone too long.

Just today, when I saw the quote again, I was struck by the fact that the threads are both invisible and red. This is impossible for any actual physical object, since color is a visible phenomenon. And so I’m given to wonder what the redness signifies and how it is perceived. Ignorant of any intended meaning, I let the red feel warm, comforting, like my own body’s blood in my veins. It is the red of working, vital blood, rather than spilled blood. It is that warmth that you sense when following a thread. You follow a thread by instinct, using your senses and logic when they apply, when they feel right. But you can’t see the thread; you can only feel it.

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