Some days are better than others.
And some days, perfectly laid plans fall by the wayside, and we realize that there’s a reason a minor inconvenience changes the way we perceive things.
On a beautiful but cold autumn day recently, I made plans to meet my close friend and piano teacher for breakfast before my piano lesson. I figured it was time, since she endures the torture of my weekly lessons. I have no delusions of becoming even a passable player. But I took it up a few years ago, inspired by my more talented daughter, who played for six years and then quit. I continued, but I haven’t made nearly the progress I would if I practiced a little more diligently and we chatted a lot less.
Anyway, before the breakfast I had to drop my dog off at the groomer’s. And this is where my day fell apart. And then came together.
I arrived early for my 9 a.m. appointment, even waited until they opened the store. Then after they searched forever for my booking, they told me that it had been booked in Saugus, instead of the Revere location where I stood. Now I’m going to be late for my appointment and for breakfast. They assured me it had happened to others, so apparently there is a major glitch in their computer system.
Anyway, I got back in the car, and first miracle — Route 1 was not, I repeat, not a parking lot. I got there in under 10 minutes
The groomer looked familiar and I made a mental note to text my daughter later about the girl who looked just like one of her former gymnastics teammates when she turned and asked, do you by any chance have a daughter?
One happy huggy reunion later, I realized this never would have happened without a little divine intervention. Onward and upward.
When my friend and I got to our breakfast place, there was only a large table for six people left. We sat at it, but when another couple came in, we invited them to share it with us. We would studiously avoid each other’s conversations, we promised. They ordered their meals and their son joined us a little while later.
Eventually the conversation turned to the big lottery winnings. That’s a conversation you can engage anyone in. We all talked about what we would do with the money, then opined that after setting enough aside for family members, it would be worth it to help the homeless, or those with the disease of addiction, since we all felt helpless about that, even though we try to do what we can. That amount of lottery money is more than you can spend in one or more lifetimes. As long as you’re not into buying more “stuff” for the sake of having more stuff, you can do some really great things, and not join the vast numbers of lottery winners who find themselves broke within a few years from overextending, or feeling the need to hand out money to every con artist with a sad story and a hand on their wallet.
When our check came, the waitress suddenly came and took it back before I could get out my credit card. The husband had picked up our tab, maybe because we offered them a seat at our table? We couldn’t believe it, but just as people who are hurt, hurt other people, people who are nice find ways to be nice to other people.
In these days of anger and hatred, anxiety and fatigue, we forget that sometimes people are put into our lives, however briefly, to remind us that we are not our problems, our politics, or our prejudices.
That day reminded me that when we sit in our cafes, we are not shouting at each other. The lottery fantasy is one of those silly ways we can briefly bond over how much good in the world we can really do.
People like me will never win, even though I buy the tickets like everyone else when the numbers get ridiculously high. I always say I’ll never win because I think poor. I think about getting my basement floor fixed, maybe adding on to my house to put a bathroom upstairs for when we get old(er).
We all wonder if we would actually keep working if we like what we do. Others have fantasies of telling off their boss, or buying a business that wronged them — and shutting it down.
But that day at breakfast we were all talking altruistically. There was no room for revenge fantasies, just nice dreams of actually helping others.
There’s no moral to this story. The winning ticket was pulled Tuesday night in South Carolina. I can unequivocally guarantee that I didn’t buy it.
But on a beautiful day in the fall, that could have started with me ranting and raving about a store’s incompetence, I got in touch with a lovely young woman, who only brought back fond memories of my daughter’s childhood. Because we got to the restaurant later than we had planned, we then had a lovely breakfast with some wonderful people, who showed me that the best thing we can do for each other is to pay kindness forward.
It may not be lottery money, but it’s still a grand prize
