au revoir

In the last two days, I've shaken more hands than I can remember. I've
shaken the hands of people I didn't know, people I barely care about,
and people I greatly respect. I've shaken the hands of men and women,
young and fit, middle-aged and portly. I've shaken hands until I've
lost track of the owners of those hands I was shaking.



Handshakes are a way of communication. Every time I shake someone's
hand I send a bit of information down my arm to the other person:
'Hello, I exist and I'm real.' 'Great to see you again.' 'Best wishes.'
I've transmitted all these messages - and more - merely by firmly
gripping another person's hand.



I've bumped into people who'd slipped out of my life like some silent
shadow. People whom I've sometimes thought about but never summoned
enough energy to call up, message, or email. But as our hands clasped
together the message jumps like a spark from cell to cell: 'Welcome
back, I've missed you.'



I've met friends who are starting to walk down their own paths in life.
Friends whose paths diverge from mine, unlikely to meet again in
the forseeable future. To them, my handshake says, 'Thanks for the
memories. My best wishes, and farewell.'



Like a passport stamp, my handshakes mark the people I meet. Except
that these people aren't arriving in or departing from a country.
Instead, it's something a whole lot more personal: These people, these
travellers, are entering or leaving my life. And there aren't any
immigration counters or border posts; just the offer of a firm
handshake to say 'welcome', or 'goodbye'.