I recently sat for jury duty for two days. On the morning of the first day, approximately forty of us were called to a courtroom. Eight people were put into the jury box and the rest of us sat in the well of the courtroom.

I sat in the well  for a day and a half waiting for my turn to be called into the jury box, be questioned  and ultimately dismissed. During those days I sat next to a group of four people. We shared a lot of information about ourselves with one another,  and, for that short time we felt almost close to one another.

One by one members of our little group went into the jury box and was subjected to the questioning. Upon being dismissed, we each, separately left the courtroom. 

I was surprised to experience something unexpectedly intimate about sitting in a room full of strangers, all waiting to be questioned for jury duty, sharing silent glances, small talk, and a collective sense of uncertainty. For a brief moment, we felt connected—united by the experience, the anticipation, and especially the inconvenience. Yet when it’s over, everyone simply walked away, no contact information shared, and that fleeting bond quietly dissolves. 

How often do we form these small, meaningful connections only to let them disappear without a trace?