Six Degrees of Separation

There are six degrees of separation with everyone on the planet, and not just Kevin Bacon, the actor who in 1994 claimed in an interview that everyone in Hollywood knows everyone else — that people in Tinseltown and everywhere else are six or fewer social connections away from each other.

I wholeheartedly believe that is true, and there are maybe even fewer degrees of separation in the western suburbs where it seems more like three degrees. Pick a name — any name — and you may eventually reach an intersection of persons, places or things where someone knows someone who knows someone and you will arrive at an aha! That can make your day.

It is a small world after all — especially if you come back to the area where you were born and raised. This is true for me, and the connections I am reminded of — sometimes on a daily basis — are humbling, uplifting and encouraging. Occasionally there is an uh-oh, but that is rare. Thank goodness.

You can always find an ally whether they emerge from a random memory or a run-in at the grocery store in the dairy aisle. Hopefully the memories are amusing and do not sting with regret.

Sometimes the sudden pronouncement, “I know you!” is startling, but more often than not it is a warm reminder that you or someone you know touched the life of someone else and the encounter was worth noting.

Coming from a large family of five siblings, cousins, in-laws and more — and having three grown children of my own — the pool of connectivity is wider once you add up all the relatives, friends, neighbors and work colleagues. Throw in hobbies and sports and the possibilities are nearly infinite.

Not long ago I met a friend at a local restaurant — at her suggestion — a spot I have not been to in maybe 10 years. Within five minutes, I said hello to four people I knew. One was a coach at the high school; another was the father of a friend of my son’s; another couple were bleacher-mates with me watching our sons play t-ball and soccer.

Just saying hello sparked a flood of great memories, making me realize how every moment we experience is a gilded thread to the moments we have lived before.

Yes, the memories may be tarnished by time, grown fuzzy on details, and perhaps even morphed into the land of fiction. But just being reminded of the past is a comfort. An immortalizing one.

I recently ran into a friend from college at a concert who told a story to my friends about meeting my father in 1976 and what a great man he was. My father passed in 1988 and just having him so vividly recalled was both touching and gratifying.

I understand familiarity can breed contempt and I honor the trepidation many have about everyone knowing your business. Yes, privacy is a good thing and you don’t have to prance around like you are the chair of the board of directors so people notice you, remember you, and years down the road call out to you by name.

Anonymity has its place. Indeed, it can be liberating to go somewhere new, unknown and unnoticed allowing you to freely reinvent and present yourself — limitless and untarnished by any memory of the past. I admire those friends who pack up and move to new cities — sight unseen — and thrive in the excitement of staking a claim to fresh soil. You can be who you dare to be. And that is fearless.

For me the reassurance of being seen and known — even if it is because a friend of a friend of a friend of a brother of an aunt of a teacher — wraps me in the comfort of a singular place in time that stretches back a week or a lifetime.

Sitting in a movie theater or watching on my TV at home, at the end of every movie or series episode, the credits roll far too fast for me to read and absorb. I cannot remember the full names and the titles to know who is who, who did what, why it was important, why they mattered. There are so many names I cannot count them all or even repeat them.

Perhaps Kevin Bacon can.

As in Hollywood, in every lifetime there is an infinite roster of names of those we have encountered — to be remembered within six degrees or 600 degrees is a blessing.

Otherwise it all just ends and someone turns on the lights, we exit the theater or change the channel, without a sound.