GOD SHOTS
What do you call it when a coincidence is too good to be true?
Serendipity? That’s when you find something you weren’t looking for, by luck or by fate; perhaps a connection or an opportunity. That’s a good start, but doesn’t totally cover it.
A fluke? To me, that feels like it lacks meaning, a one-off meant to be brushed aside. It’s also just a wholly unaesthetic word, simply incapable of describing the magic of what I’m talking about.
Synchronicity? That’s Carl Jung’s term for the unexplainable phenomena of your internal thoughts or dreams aligning with real life events. That does happen to me, but what about when the none of the variables are in your head? What do you call it when they are external, laid bare in reality for all to see?
“Alley Check” (2026)
What I’m talking about can include any combination of those, but it has to go deep - I mean when you really feel like the universe has made a statement; when it lays it’s cards on the table in an undeniable way. When the odds are so infinitesimally small, so utterly incalculable, that you have no other choice but to notice; to accept; to reconcile.
When it feels like life is sending you a message; what do you call that?
Well, doctors call it schizophrenia.
I prefer a term I heard about five years ago and have latched on to ever since:
I call it a God Shot.
I’ve written previously on this website about serendipitous moments, my favorite probably being the St. Louis blog where I caught Laura Lee’s headband at a Khruangbin concert, which is actually where I first mentioned the term ‘God Shot’ on this blog. I’d even consider my Charleston outfit-match series of small moments of serendipity.
But it’s not a phenomena that happens to me a lot, nor is it really a word I use with any frequency. I do believe in luck, but I also believe in hard work, so I tend to reason - and side - with the latter. It’s reliable.
When I was in high school my mom ran an antique shop over by Coe College called “Serendipity on Second”. That’s probably my oldest connection to the word & concept, aside maybe from seeing the trailer for the movie ‘Serendipity’ somewhere around the same time.
To the contrary, I have experienced 'synchronicity' by Jung’s definition, many, many times in my adult life. There was actually a nearly three-year period starting in late 2022 where ‘syncs’ (moments of synchronicity) were happening to me so often that I started to write them down. Any instance where a thought or dream coincided with a real-life event, I noted the date and time along with a keyword or phrase that triggered it. I realize that this, on it’s own, sounds utterly f****** crazy.
But I assigned no meaning to these incidents or the logs, with the exception of thinking, every now and then: ‘Well, I must being doing the right thing’.
“I must be doin somethin right”
I purchased Jung’s book ‘Synchronicity’ and only made it a few pages. It was extremely dense, heavily academic, and the ‘s’ word (schizoprenia) scared me off. I looked no further into it, until I started to write this blog, years later.
As it turns out, this isn’t that uncommon, or crazy, at all. The term ‘synchronicity’ was coined by Jung in 1930, but the concept is as old as stories come, dating back to ancient China and Confucius. Mesopotamian kings built empires and started wars based on dreams and signs interpreted to be divine. And they too, just like me for a few years, kept logs of the omens, trying to decipher their meanings. We all aren’t as lucky as Noah, it turns out.
Much more recently, there have been studies like the one at the University of Missouri, using the perfectly named ‘Weird Coincidence Scale’ (WCS) that found that 1 in 3 people reported noticing have frequent, meaningful coincidences.
In fact, the more I looked, the more I realized how prevalent this was. It has been thoroughly studied, written about and debated amongst scholars and scientists for hundreds of years. They’ve determined that it happens to some people more than others, that it can help therapeutically, that it occurs more in times of intense emotion or change. People have tried to explain it using everything from God to simulation to quantum physics. But no one, and I mean no one, has a definitive answer to the question I asked myself several times on this trip:
What the hell is going on?
Although I do consider myself both spiritual and mildly superstitious, over that three year period of logging ‘syncs’ I didn’t make any decisions based on what I was noticing, big or small. I went about my day with logic and rationale. Besides, I couldn’t make any sense of the list - there was obviously no discernable pattern (duh) - and the coincidences generally lost their luster after a while - aside from the few notes where I included that it physically gave me goosebumps. That tended to have the same chilling effect in hindsight.
There were also a few entries where I noted that I was ‘just ahead’ of them, meaning that I could feel it was about to happen - some kind of pre-deja vu predicting the synchronicity. The only example of this I could find of this phenomena was from a dystopian 1961 Phillip K. Dick novel called “The Game - Players of Titan” where it happened to characters as a result of induced-amnesia. Just the idea of that gives me what I believe scientists refer to as the ‘willie-nillies’.
“God Shot after God Shot, it felt like an onslaught”
Then, the coincidences stopped. For the most part at least.
I wasn’t looking for them necessarily, but they sure weren’t coming naturally anymore. I had only logged three in the year 2025. But again, I assigned it no emotional value. It was a fine year.
The log was just an exercise; in keeping my eyes open to the possibilities of fate, of destiny. Do I think I’ll find the meaning of life in some store-window ad or in the reflection of a mud puddle?
No, but I see no point in not looking anyway.
“I don’t know at all, this just my first time livin”
Then Kristen came around.
Ever since, I’ve seen them again, in droves. God Shots big and small. I gave up the log but share instances of them with her regularly, which she generally responds with a ‘milky way galaxy’ emoji. A quick and easy way of agreeing; some things are undeniable.
I went home for the 4th of July this year, and let me tell you, the God Shots stole the show. I got back to jotting them down, culminating into a ‘grand’ finale, one that was so intense, so brain-rattling, that I’m considering factoring it into my life’s biggest decisions - schizophrenia, by definition.
God Shots, back with a bang.
That’s right, I’m considering leaning into schizophrenia…
…by definition, at least. Embracing the idea that the world is talking to me.
But I believe that when you hear this story; as properly told with context, scale and scope; that you will join me.
Come. Let’s make some big decisions based on life’s beautiful coincidences.
“It opened up my eyes, I saw the sign”
The trip to CR was, well, a trip. The plane ride from Chicago was largely made up of Savannah Banana employees and the team’s opponents, The Firefighters - a few of which were dressed in full gear - for the weekend’s ultra-sold-out games at Kinnick Stadium.
Fellas had a big weekend ahead of them.
As we’re all waiting to get off the plane [why is everyone standing up?] something caught my ear: it was a gentleman in a backwards trucker cap, assuring another flier that they have definitely heard of at least one, if not two songs.
It turns out that the 90’s rock band Fastball, creators of the 1998 earworm The Way, had a show in Greene Square Park - two blocks from my hotel - the following day, and this was their road crew guy of some sort, convincing one of the Bananas guys to come see them play. The Bananas guy couldn’t have been older than 25 and I think there’s a decent chance he hadn’t heard The Way in his life, unless his mom had the original Wow! That’s What I Call Music cd stuck in her car stereo during his childhood or something. He was polite nonetheless. Regrettably, neither of us went to the show (no one did, I could see Greene Square out the window. It was over 100 with the heat index and I had to get dinner later at Need. But in hindsight I should have stopped by and shown Fastball some love.)
Greene Square Park lit up on July 4th
After sifting through the Banana managers and fully-cleated Firefighters to get my bag at the airport, we hit the interstate towards the hotel. Kristen mentioned that she had already us checked in. It’s Room 1116, she said.
Huh, I responded, that’s the day I left CR last time (November 16th, it was special to us; we basically started our relationship that weekend.)
I know, she said, sounding a little weirded out by it. There are over 250 (newly-remodeled) rooms in the Doubletree …and we got the date of my last departure? I gathered that that she noticed the coincidence too. I found comfort in not being the only one.
God Shot score: 3/10 - (Notable, but I'm not crazy enough to actually think anything of it - yet.)
Speaking of concerts that would have been much bigger in the 90’s, there was a Weird Al show going on at the US Cellular Center as I checked in to the connecting hotel, with many of his fans milling about dressed either as him (Hawaiian shirts) or characters from his videos. This was turning out to be one of the most colorful travel days of my life.
Fun fact: I actually shot a Weird Al concert in 2016 at the Amphitheatre, and it made the cover of a limited-edition book called ‘Corridor Rising’, detailing the city’s comeback after the flood of 2008. A copy of that book sits on my coffee table as I write this!
You can check the metadata yourself - I took the photo 8/9/16, exactly 10 years ago to the day of publishing this blog.
God Shot score: 4/10 - (The guy stays touring, but the 10-years-to-the-day thing is pretty good.)
“Corridor Rising” 2016
Back to room 1116; that’s where I took these 4th of July landscapes of the east side of town. This is a deeply meaningful place to me; it’s where I grew up; first as a child, and then again as an adult. The fireworks acted as a beautiful, exploding roll-call of locations near-and-dear to my heart. From left-to-right, that’s McKinley, Grant Wood, Hitter’s, Bertram, Van Vechtan, Oakhill-Jackson.
A visual storyline of my youth, lighting up the night sky.
“I was gone, but not my love”
There is no single place I daydream about more than the deep southeast side of Cedar Rapids, Iowa. Otis Road, the Indian Creek Nature Center, Prairie Park Fishery, Mount Trashmore, all the way to Ely. It’s my brain’s default screensaver, the first place it wanders on a hot summer day, especially if I haven’t been in a while (although nowadays Charleston is not far behind.)
“The Route” 2026
And it had been a while.
Seven years, by my count (for Ely and Indian Creek, at least. I went to Trashmore in 2024 and hung a print from that visit at Need on this trip.)
I borrowed Kristen’s mom’s bike and put 50 miles on it over two days, soaking in every second of it, checking each of those locations off in a dream-like state of bliss and dehydration. There is nothing I love more than riding my bike through southeast CR on a summer day; a statement I could make today, ten years ago, or thirty years ago.
One of the most sacred sites of the SE side is the legendary Blue Bridge. Growing up the Blue Bridge lead to two magical places: The Indian Creek Nature Center and the Stephan’s house. Stomping around Indian Creek and it’s trails is the very foundation of my love for the outdoors and the exploration of it. I have endless fond memories of mornings out there with family and dogs, leaving the world behind us as we ventured from the meadow to the woods.
The Stephan’s house is where I met three life-long best friends, one of whom, Cam, I work for now in South Carolina; and deciding to do so was one of my life’s biggest decisions. It all started by crossing the Blue Bridge.
It’s also extremely special to me for one more reason: a bubbly, long-limbed, ginger-haired reason that I would do anything for; it’s where I first met my niece, little Ava Jane. It was 2018 and I was still living in CR, she and Cam were making their first visit together, and we did a big family shoot with four generations of Stephan’s on the bridge. The blue-painted steel served as a perfect backdrop. She and I now hang out all the time, at the beach, 1200 miles away. There is zero chance she has any memory of that first meeting, but that is what pictures are for.
The bridge has since been re-located, after 146 years of use, to the nearby nature trails, where it acts a pedestrian crossing from one meadow to another. I read that it wasn’t painted blue until 1991, which means it lived most of it’s existence, over a hundred years, without that standout trait. I love that it found new life, not once, but twice; first as a loveable landmark, then retired as the legend it is, repurposed to continue on for future generations. As I stomped around the area with my life-long homie Todd and reminisced about that photo shoot, I decided it’s a goal of mine to get the Stephan’s all back here for another shoot. And then another, and another, as the family finds new life, just like the Blue Bridge.
As I was getting dressed in the hotel room on Saturday I listened to More Rim & AB, a podcast helmed by two more age-old friends; one that makes me feel at home no matter where I am. In this case, I was actually at home.
On that day’s episode there was a contribution to an ongoing series commemorating one-hit-wonders.
No way, I thought. I could feel it coming; a Phillip K. Dick Game of Titans moment.
Rim starts humming the melody from The Way.
They go on to do a two-minute segment on a 28-year old song by a one-hit wonder band that I hadn’t thought about in decades. My mind was reeling. Fastball!? What!?
I was experiencing, in my hotel room, what I believe scientists refer to as ‘the heebie-jeebies’.
I sent the podcast guys a message telling them there was a concert in CR on the day that I assumed they recorded the episode. The following week they read the comment on the air, stating that it was ‘an insane coincidence’.
While I tend to agree, I didn’t realize it yet but the best was yet to come.
God Shot score: 6/10 - (Pretty crazy, as co-signed on the podcast, but that band and song mean very little to me in 2026.)
“Where were they going, without ever knowing the way?”
Unlike Fastball, one band that I did manage to see was Hank the Sax Man and his crew of uber-talented misfits that jam at MoCo. I first caught them on my New Years trip in 2024 and reached out to Hank afterwards, telling him what a good time I had and that I would love to bring my camera next time I was in town. He obliged and then likely forgot about it, so I’m hoping to surprise him with a couple hits; I think the one below is awesome in black and white. (Go see them if you get a chance!)
It was pretty serendipitous that he and the gang were jamming while I was in town: they only play the first Thursday of every month (12 times a year) and I’m home 12-14 days per year, randomly. And because I took AP Statistics with along with Rim and AB back in high school, I can tell you that the odds of both happening at the same time are… [scribbles some gibberish, punches numbers into upside-down calculator] …pretty small!
You’ll notice two things in the photo above: Hank’s 4th of July get-up (shirt goes crazy, but altered-MAGA hats are still a thumbs down, sorry) and the soft reflection of the lights off the empty bar table in front of me. Two things you can take away from that - it’s Independence Day (or very near to it) and there’s no drink in front of me at MoCo. That is, of course, because I quit drinking on August 23, 2021. I have an app on my phone that can tell me how many days that is, and get this: (you can do the math yourself if you want to!) on July 4th, 2026, the day of our nation’s 250th anniversary, I was 1776 days sober.
1776.
On America’s 250, commemorating July 4th, 1776.
The argument against finding meaning in instances like this and many others, is that there is a confirmation bias; that my brain is only selectively seeing 1776 days on July 4th, and ignoring all the other days that appear to have no coincidence or connecting value. Subconsciously picking only what appears to be special, in order to give it meaning.
I would argue that those other 1775 days were what made this one special. You can’t have a coincidence without circumstances, without a set-up. And this one took almost five years to reveal itself.
God Shot score: 7/10 (I was already going to stay the course but it feels like a confirmation of good decisions.)
*Takes a deep breath.*
Alright, so here is 2nd Ave SE. It’s home to Need Pizza and is one block away from the Doubletree hotel.
Those two places have always been home-base when I come back to Cedar Rapids, and in year’s past, I’ve hosted meetups for my photography group, The 319illgrammers, with those places as starting points.
That’s how I met Kristen.
Horribly out-of-focus but from left-to-right; my bff, my sister and my future girlfriend (April 2022)
She came to a meetup in 2021 at the hotel, then another one that met on 2nd Ave the following year. We talked sporadically and kept in touch, eventually doing a private shoot at the hotel in January 2023 that turned out great. She even made an appearance at Time for Art later that year, an event that was always near-and-dear to my heart. My dad, sister and grandpa were also in attendance that night.
But life is hectic and messy and time flies when you’re as busy as we are. We kept in touch here and there, and finally saw each other once again at another meetup, this time in NewBo at the start of 2025. It was the coldest day in six or seven years, so we pulled an audible and got someone to let us in the Cherry Building, making the best of what would have otherwise been a rare dud by previous meetup’s standards. This one, by the way, in particular was a collaboration with O’Ganics and Rob Stephan, one of the homies I used to cross the Blue Bridge for. It was also the same day that I first saw Hank and the jam band play at MoCo.
Fast forward to November of that year. I was in town to shoot a gala, and I reached out to see if she would come down to Need to hang for a bit.
She told me she was cleaning her house and she would get back to me later.
I never, ever do this, but after not hearing back for a while, I messaged her again. She responded right away and agreed to come down and join me.
When she got there she told me the funniest thing:
It was her birthday.
We hung out all weekend, then, as a pleasant surprise, again the following weekend in Charleston. A dozen flights to the beach later, including a trip to the mountains to see my family, and were now in a full-fledged long-distance relationship.
By the time I made it Home (capital H) in July, we were seven months in and I still hadn’t met her family or her son, Cole, who was home for the summer from college.
We made an appointment to do so, 6pm at Need on Thursday. (Fastball was at 5, but I didn’t want to show up to dinner sticky and gross.)
It went great. Her family was fun and the pizza, as always, was excellent. By luck or by fate, I actually sold a print off the wall while we were eating. It’s been years since I sold a print out of Need… and someone inquired about purchasing one, while I was a few tables over. Kristen’s mom actually egged the process along and I ended up meeting the buyer, cutting them a deal and signing the print. Funny part is, I had just hung a new one up earlier that day. Out with the old, in with the new.
God Shot Score: 6.5/10 - (Who knows how many inquiries I actually get, I left no infrastructure or info to sell the prints. That will be improved one day. But if I go to Fastball and bump dinner to 7, neither Kristen’s mom or I are there, and it probably doesn’t sell.)
After dinner, we bid farewell to her family, I shake Cole’s hand, then turn to get in Kristen’s car along with her and Todd (she got a good spot right at the front doors.) I needed a piece of paper and began my search by pawing through her center console. The first sheet I grabbed was a memorial for a fallen police officer. Who knows how long it’s been in there, but regardless, it would be disrespectful to use it for any reason. So I put it back and keep looking.
The next piece that I grab catches my eye, then hits my stomach.
‘DFI’ read the header.
My dad’s old company. Not that crazy, considering where we’re parked - he used to leave this exact notepad inside at Need when working with them on advertising stuff for the radio. At first, I smile. What I’m seeing instantly, instinctively brings me joy. It’s my dad’s handwriting. Something I’d recognize anywhere. This is the man that used to leave me post-it notes all the time, it was a staple of my childhood. I would bet my life on recognizing his writing. But my eyes kept scanning, and my stomach twisted into a giant soft pretzel.
It’s his name and phone number. I’m confused. The possibilities start reeling through my mind. He left a long time ago. What is this?
My dad stomping through the NC mountains.
I ask it again, aloud this time: What this is? Kristen replies that she has no idea. The center console is still open.
In a confused, auto-pilot state, I reach in and grab another ‘DFI’ letterheaded stationary. It’s his last home address in Cedar Rapids, again in his handwriting.
I’m in shock. The smile was stuck on my face but I have moved on to other emotions. I know I looked insane, and I felt that way a little too.
What is this? I ask again, two or three times. This is my dad, I stammer. Incredulous, scared, confused, heart-warmed, all at once.
I DON’T KNOW. Kristen repeats.
Todd tries to help from the backseat. Maybe her son was looking you and your dad up to make sure you were good people?
It’s my dad’s handwriting! I replied, grasping to make sense of it. I think this exact conversation happened two or three times, with the volume, wonder and worry getting cranked up by one notch each go-around.
After a minute or two that felt like ten years, the oxygen had been sucked completely out of the car. Todd is at a loss for words, I keep repeating myself like some broken pull-string toy doll, and Kristen is three seconds from getting out of the car and walking away. The intensity was so thick it was fogging up the windshield.
“In the car we sit, from the intro /
She rolls down the window, just in case I was a schizo”
Then, it clicked. Kristen asks, exhaustedly as a last grasp: Did your dad get in an accident here about six years ago?
I used the phrase ‘last address’ earlier because my dad packed up and left CR for North Carolina in 2023. I did the same for South Carolina in 2019. Her son Cole now went to school and lived in northern Iowa. But Kristen, and this car, and the contents of it’s center console, never left.
It turns out that sometime in 2020, when Cole was just learning to drive, and my father had not yet left for NC… they collided. Literally. Cole swerved lanes and ran into my dad over on 42nd Street.
My dad, shook up and furious at the other driver, wrote his info down and handed it over to the kid that eventually turned out to be my girlfriend’s son. Being that it was Cole’s fault, my dad’s info was not needed in the long run (although Kristen called him to tell him his insurance paperwork was old, ha!) Those two sheets of paper, bearing his handwriting, went into that center console and sat… and sat and sat, for six years…
…until I found them.
They went from my dad’s hands, to Cole’s, to Kristen’s, to mine.
To think, after all this time, my dad is still leaving me notes.
“When destiny has a sense of humor, they call it serendipity”
Still in the car, we called my dad to tell him what just happened. Aside from probably lighting him up six years ago about the insurance paperwork, Kristen also crossed paths with him (or met him, even) at the aforementioned Time for Art event in ‘22. Then, in May of this year, she flew from Cedar Rapids to Myrtle Beach, then drove six hours with me to his house in the mountains, to finally, formally meet him. And she unknowingly had his name, cell phone number, and [old] address in her car all along.
And I found it, 10 minutes after meeting Cole for the first time.
Serendipity on Second.
God Shot Score: (A perfect 10 out of 10. It has changed the way I look at life, sincerely.)
That young man did NOT want to tell his mom! My dad said remembering back to that fateful accident.
I know! I said, I’m sitting next to her right now!
He laughed and laughed. He could not believe it.
Later on I got one of the more sweeping, yet concise, painfully beautiful text messages ever written:
“Life is grand”
Yes, yes it is. You just have to look for it.
Sir your auto insurance paperwork is outdated.
THANK YOU FOR READING AND GOD BLESS.