Coconut on the Road: Coconut coincidences

In 2020, Rota had around 3,400 residents. Saipan counted about 50,000. Guam, roughly 168,000. Japan? 124 million. And India—more than 1.46 billion people spread across a landmass of 1.27 million square miles. That’s about 1,275 people per square mile. You could drop a coconut and easily bonk three or four of them on the noggin.

Since 1975, around the time I was born, the Earth’s population has more than doubled—from 4 billion to over 8.2 billion.

Guam alone grew from about 99,000 souls to what it is today. It makes you wonder: what are the odds of running into someone you know in this massive, spinning ball of humanity?

Statistically, Uncle Google says the odds are roughly 0.00417%. Slim. Yet somehow, I keep beating them.

Once, while snorkeling in a spring in central Florida, I surfaced beside a man who happened to be from Boston. Turns out, he lived next door to a soldier I’d served with years earlier.

I’ve met friends-of-friends, family of friends, and even long-lost colleagues in my worldly travels. These coincidences have followed me through nearly 50 countries.

Another time, in southern Germany, I was having lunch with my (then) fiancée in the shadow of Munich’s 12th-century St. Peter’s Cathedral. As was common, we shared a table with strangers. In German, I asked, “Entschuldigung, ist hier Frei?” or “Is this seat free?” She smiled and without thinking, she answered in English, “Why yes, you just help yourself.”

Recognizing her southern belle accent, I switched languages and asked where in Georgia she was from. Her eyebrows lifted in disbelief. As it happened, her son, a U.S. Army veteran, had married a Belgian woman and was living in Germany. Small world, right?

Then, as fate would have it, he told me he co-owned one of America’s oldest motorcycle racing sanctioning bodies. My brother had raced for them the year prior. The man knew him, had even spoken to him weeks earlier.

What are the odds?

It happens closer to home, too. Back in Alabama, my previous neighbor and I, after sharing our U.S. Army experiences, discovered that we shared a mutual friend from Louisiana. His friend was best friends with one of my friends; both also served in the Army in Afghanistan together and even dated the same girl in high school.

A couple of weeks ago, in a Houma, Louisiana grocery store, an employee helping me find a product asked where I was from. When I said “Guam,” he asked if I knew a traveling nurse named Lisa. I laughed and told him I actually knew two of them.

One of them, as it turned out, was his friend from his hometown, Houma. Now I’ve promised to freeze and bring with me a little Cajun comfort food back to Guam for her. Sometimes, in this big world, nothing beats the taste of home.

Sometimes, we can go months on Guam without bumping into anyone familiar. Yet out in the wide world, we stumble upon beautiful connections in the most unlikely places—across oceans, languages, and lives. All it takes is a simple word, a question, or a friendly smile.

It’s the art of conversation; a skill we’re losing to text bubbles and screen time. But when we open our mouths (politely), we often open doors.

Aboard my ship recently, I met a man from Bayou Black that runs through Houma. We discovered a mutual friend on Guam, a Mr. S. Butler. Last week, I crossed paths with an engineer from Guam now living in Washington State. He’s an islander by birth; I’m an islander by adoption. Thanks to Guam, we were instant friends/chelu.

And just a few days ago, while passing through airport security in Houston, I locked eyes with a TSA officer who noticed my spondylus necklace. She smiled. I spotted her island roots. Almost in unison, we said, “Håfa adai!” She was proudly from Saipan.

Coincidences? Maybe. But I like to think the world is smaller than we imagine; stitched together by shared places, familiar faces, and the courage to speak first. Because if we don’t stay open, if we stop talking, stop connecting, we might just miss the magic hiding in plain sight.

In other words, we might be committing the mistake of, “Ne pas laissez les bons temps rouler,” or not letting the good times roll.

Until next time, stay talking and stay coconutty!