Another work-related trip looms. This time to Tucson, Arizona, a city I’ve long wanted to visit. I mean, it’s a city with a silent “c” in its name — how can it not be cool?

One of the nice perks about traveling for work is that it affords you the ability to visit people you haven’t seen for a while, essentially on someone else’s dime. I suspect that’s part of the reason Pittsburgh doesn’t thrill me as a destination; I don’t know anyone there.

But in Tucson I have an old acquaintance from college, whom I haven’t seen in many years. (Please understand: “old” and “many” are relative terms here.) She’s pursuing (I think) a master’s degree at the university. I am headed to the university to think about health education with their library school folks.

So, a bit hesitantly, I dropped a line to this fellow Conn alum. I mean, it was a bit cheeky to email her out of the blue (she fell off my Christmas card list a few years back when I ran out of time to finish mailing them) just because I was headed to her town of residence. Would she object to being bothered? Would she think I was using her presence in town as a way to alleviate boredom while I was far from home? (A valid point, even if I was actually looking forward to seeing her.) Would she offer up a thin, but possibly legitimate excuse as to why she couldn’t see me? Would she bother to respond at all?

But today, a return email. She was pleased to hear I was coming to town. Did I need a ride from the airport? Should she knock off work early to hang out one afternoon? It was exactly the response I’d hoped for, but hadn’t dared to expect.

I overthink things sometime. I would be pleased if people I liked during my previous lifetimes looked me up when they came to D.C. Why shouldn’t others be equally happy if I do the same?