Missed connections
confessions of an old millennial soul
I used to check the “missed connections” section of craigslist every day. For years. The link was bookmarked in my web browser, right next to my links for Facebook, Twitter, and Quora.
I would apply the filters “sf bay area > east bay” and scan for references to places I had been that day. Coffee shops I had visited, BART stations I had waited at, streets I had walked down, areas of campus I had crossed. I scoured every new ad.
Sometimes the ad’s author sought a person they’d had a lovely conversation with; others described a fleeting one-way glimpse. Sometimes their prose was restrained, respectful; sometimes puppy-dog eager. Often they offered a compliment – on the person’s eyes, face, energy, body, outfit. Always a wistfulness, spoken or unspoken. An open-ended longing.
Author unknown. Screenshot taken March 30, 2023. In part, I was hoping to find a description of myself in one of these ads, proof that someone saw me and wanted me.
In part, I simply loved the concept of missed connections. Something about this ad section, the fact it existed, fed my lonely millennial soul. It was a field of pining, of possibility, of serendipity that hadn’t quite clicked today but perhaps still could. A place for prayers that serendipity might loop back around to cement the longed-for magical connection.
I never found myself in the ads.
I once posted an ad, addressed not to a stranger who had caught my eye but to a friend who had broken my heart. I composed what I thought was poetic language to capture the angst, affection, and grief I felt unable to express to him. Within 48 hours of posting, I received two responses from random strangers.
