I am not certain if "Synchroncity" is the correct word. But I am thinking of the circumstances when quite unexpectedly something happens at exactly the right time. Such as now.
A few minutes ago I went into the living room to the part of the bookcase where I had some travel books stored. When I moved, and downsized, I threw away (actually, donated) a number of travel books having to do with places that I had visited but would likely never visit again: Antarctica, Iceland, Sumatra, Lichtenstein (yes, really), etc... But I had kept things like guidebooks and maps of places I would be returning to: Paris. London. I went looking on that shelf this afternoon because I am going to New York the day after tomorrow and thought I might have a NYC subway map. Turned out I didn't; not a big deal, because I know New York well and can make my way around easily without a tourist map. But as I sat there by the bookcase, I saw a book that I didn't really remember: FOR YOUR EYE ALONE: The Collected Letters of Robertson Davies.
Davies, Canadian man of letters whom I greatly admired, died in 1995. This book was published in 1999, and I very likely bought it then—and read it then—fifteen years ago. As you can see, there are still some markers, placed by me, in its pages. Since I had little memory of the content, I was curious to see what I had noted in the book. To my amusement, I had...for reasons long forgotten..marked this passage:
This autumn I went to Washington and did a reading at the Library of Congress.It went very well and they treated me royally. Then I went to New York Uiversity, where I found to my dismay that they were using me (without having said anything to me about it) as a means of begging for money... Their standard of hospitality was certainly not that of the Lib. of Congress; I spoke in a very strange room where the light on the lectern was broken, so that, for seventy minutes, I had to hold it aloft over my MS, like the Statue of Liberty....