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About eighteen years ago I was doing some paperwork in my office, which at the time was in a small office building (it is now at home), when I felt the tremors of an earthquake. I left my third-floor suite, walked down the stairs to exit the building, and found its occupants huddled together outside the front door, concerned and anxious, but by now looking a bit relieved that the shaking had stopped. The building manager told us to stay outside for a while, in case there were aftershocks, so we all stayed there for another fifteen minutes or so. People started chatting with each other. Many of us did not know each other well because even though it was a small building, people came and went at different times. A few people met in the hallways occasionally, but tenants from all three floors had never been together in quite this way before.
As we were standing there chatting, people who didn't know each other began introducing themselves. Somebody asked me who I was. I told the person my name and said I was a psychoanalyst with an office on the third floor. At that moment, a young man in the group suddenly turned toward me and said, “Oh my God, you are Dr. Abbasi. I'm supposed to come see you!” I responded, “Looks like it took only an earthquake for us to meet.” He burst out laughing and then, stepping a little bit outside the group with me, explained that he had been given my name a short while ago, when he told someone he knew in the area that he wanted to be in therapy. He had been carrying my name and number around on a paper in his pocket, but had not yet gotten around to calling me. He talked about how amazing it was that my office was in the very building where he worked.