I was amazed to discover my friend John Moffet sitting in the window seat right next to me—the same John I was partying with that fateful night I cracked my ribs at Stanford Stadium. What are the odds? A happy coincidence, for sure. But nothing more, I thought. It wasn’t until years later that I would divine greater meaning in John’s presence not just on that flight, but in my life. The truth, I’d later realize, was that John was the only reason I was even on this flight to begin with.
