Ex Marks the Spot: A Super Synchronicity Story

It started simply enough—a dream about an ex from 30 years ago. That part wasn’t unusual. I’d dreamt about her from the first day we met and, though I wish I didn’t, I still dreamed about her regularly three decades later. This one was different, though—more emotional, more joyful than the others. Still, I put it out of my mind soon after waking.

Later that day, while bushwalking, I heard an intuitive voice say, You need to contact her. That had the potential to upend my entire life, so I ignored it—something I rarely do.

On the drive home, a song came on the radio. A song that never plays on the radio—Girl from Mars by Ash. We’d seen them live together in 1997.

A few days later, my best friend brought her up out of nowhere, sharing memories about her and her family. He finished by asking, “Why aren’t you two in touch?”

Not long after, I was talking with my mum. She’d never been a fan of this girl, yet she mentioned her too and asked, “What’s she doing these days?” I admitted I didn’t know. My sister chimed in: “That’s weird—most people are at least occasionally in contact with their exes.” (She’s still friends with all of hers.)

I’d become friends with Dan after the breakup. He’d just split from his first girlfriend, and our stories were eerily similar in almost every way. Around this time, he casually mentioned that he and his long-lost ex were back in touch regularly. Another friend told me—completely unprompted—that someone from high school had contacted them out of the blue and now they spoke daily.

A few weeks later, while researching a book, I stumbled on a website related to my topic. I checked the author’s credentials—and froze. She was a dead ringer for my ex, at least as she’d looked 30 years ago.

I began to feel that something wanted me to reach out. Still, I hesitated. This could change both our lives forever.

So I asked for guidance. If I’m meant to contact her, give me a sign—make it so obvious I can’t miss it.

About ten seconds later, my phone dinged. I was about to check it when a truck drove past with her name stencilled across the front in huge red letters. Her name was rare. That was a sign I couldn’t ignore.

But first, I looked at the message.

A friend had sent me a photo of the two of us together from exactly 30 years ago—the day we met.