On losing my keys and finding my happy

The description does not define reality.

I mulled over these words, which I read in the book Trespassing on Einstein's Lawn by Amanda Gefter. The book is an attempt to discover how something (the Universe) came out of nothing (defined as a state of infinite, unbounded homogeneity). Not your typical beach read.


It's full of quantum physics and theories and fancy words and my brain is saturated with information, only about 60% of which I understand.

But it has me thinking, and my understanding is growing, and slowly, the pieces of information are relating to my life and clicking into place. Or maybe that's just what it feels like when your brain is getting ready to explode. Thank you, Einstein. E=MC pour me a drink because my head hurts.

And, in a seemingly unrelated event (though I'm learning that everything is related, down to the Planck scale, a millionth of a billionth of a billionth of a billionth centimeter, watch out for that exploding brain matter as you try to process that), I realized how the description of something does shape reality, but only as it pertains to us as individuals. True reality, at least as defined in the book, is only that which is invariable from all perspectives. So far, the only thing that has been proven to be invariable is nothing.

But I'm getting way off my story here.

The other morning, I was getting ready to go out and about. I had my keys in one hand and a sack of garbage in the other. As I hefted the sack of garbage up, it caught my keys and took them with it to the bottom of the dumpster.

I had just showered. In the summer, that's basically a bigger feat than understanding string theory, because jumping into any body of water counts as a shower, right?

I stood looking down at my keys, the possibilities of retrieval and of missing my brunch date running through my brain. Even if I weren't now locked out of my house, I couldn't think of anything I had in there to fish them out. And in the moment I accepted the solution was me climbing in and getting them--soiling my new romper, my clean hair, and my dignity--my neighbor, that chain-smoking old hippie from Unit 4 walked by.

I explained my situation, and he went to retrieve the wire coat hanger he keeps around for when his mom locks her keys in her car, which apparently is a frequent occurrence. So, while the smoke from the cigarette dangling out of his mouth contaminated said romper and hair, and the coffee in his other hand grew cold, he fished out my keys.

Heroes come in all shapes and sizes, even if they're missing teeth and haven't showered since 1982 (see above for why that last part isn't judgmental because summer accomplishments).

I thanked him and as I got into my car sans dumpster filth and stank, I realized how lucky I was. Because, as we all know, little annoyances like this happen. Dropping your keys, losing your keys (or mind), flat tires, etc. As far as this situation went, I really believe the easiest scenario possible played out.

And for that, I am lucky.

I could have bemoaned dropping my keys in the dumpster, being late to meet my friend, having to stand by the dumpster longer than my senses and pride enjoyed, but instead I felt a moment of gratitude that it was all so easy.

I realized that moments like these are what shapes our reality. When we see a situation as lucky, then our world becomes one where we feel and therefore are lucky. It becomes the truth of our world--our reality--because that's what we make it.

Dr. Wayne Dyer says "Hostile people live in a hostile world. Loving people live in a loving world. Same world."

Which seems to be in direct contrast with the opening statement here, but somehow this came around full circle when I thought of it. I can't remember how now, and I'm going to leave it like that for you to ponder, comment, or not care at all, because I'm still in summer vacation mode and I'm far too busy enjoying my infinite, unbounded homogeneity to try and figure it out.

Humble

Halt, you tell the naked earth.
Let my spirit speak its piece.
But nothing ordinary
stops the world.
Yet you are not
but a snowflake still.

You open like a flower
to the sun, your nectar
for the bees on a summer's day
You close when winter comes.
And good or bad, you keep
only what you release.

Your soul stretches to the sky
or just in your mind's eye.
Your heart opens or closes
to harvest heaven or hell,
Love or fear.
Your love hangs on
this dainty thorn,
holds your crown there tight.

Synchronicities

“He said he was into self-help, but when I mentioned Wayne Dyer, he drew a blank, and that’s how I knew he wasn’t my soul mate.”

I had forgotten all about the guy who moseyed up to me over avocados at Vons last September until last week, when I decided to scroll back through my timeline on Twitter and read what I’d tweeted around this time last year.

 I never went out with him--I don’t remember why--and promptly forgot about the entire incident.

Fast forward to Thursday. My friends and I were at breakfast, a local little hole-in-the-wall restaurant that serves foods like quinoa, green juice, and organic flax smoothies but has terrible service, is too hot to be comfortable, and has too many flies to be completely sanitary.

It’s my favorite place to eat off last night’s bad decisions.

My friend received a text from her crush, a simple message that said nothing and everything at the same time: the tongue emoji. 

“What does this mean?” she asked. I didn’t know what it meant per se but we both knew there was some sort of innuendo there that wasn’t necessarily appropriate for such a new relationship.

We spent a good half hour trying to decide what to text back. Something that had no obvious or even obscure connotation. 

“Well definitely not a peach,” we agreed.

We scrolled through every single emoji on either of our phones, until we landed on what we thought was the perfect response to derail an inappropriate remark: a paper clip.

We mulled the potential hidden meanings of a paperclip but found none.

Later that day my handyman showed up to determine why my closet doors kept coming off their tracks. He poked around for no more than five minutes, then told me the reason the doors were having problems was because something had jammed the tracks. He held up the culprit: a paper clip.

There came my day, seemingly unconnected events, full circle. 

I went to the grocery store that evening and passed the peaches. I snickered as I picked one up., remembering the earlier conversation I'd had with my friend.

And that was when a guy in a suit walked over and asked me if I thought they'd be good peaches.

“Well I believe it’s too early in the year for peaches. You’d have to wait a couple of weeks, and then you have to feel the peach. If it’s soft, it’ll be juicy and you’ll enjoy it. But see this one? It’s hard and you’ll regret the moment you bite into it.” I told him.

“You know, this sounds like a wildly inappropriate conversation for the grocery store, but it is really just an innocent conversation about peaches,” he told me. We chatted a little more. He noted my sass factor and said, “you’re trouble, my mom warned me about girls like you.” And then he somehow wove into the conversation that he does gratitude walks and is into self-help.

“Oh, me, too! I watched a Wayne Dyer video just this morning,” I said.

“Who?”

And that’s when I realized that the guy who was hitting on me (rather calculatedly, in hindsight) over peaches at Barrons was the same guy who hit on me over avocados at Vons a year ago. He had no idea he’d used the same lines on me a year before at a different store. 

“What’s your name?” he asked, holding out his hand to shake mine.

“Kelli with an ‘I’.”

“Oh, you love saying that, don’t you? I’m Brett. With two ts.” He said, which I already knew because we’d been here before. 

I will note here that I haven’t quite mastered the art of telling a guy “no thanks” when he asks for my number, even if I have no intention of dating him, because I just hate the thought of making him feel rejected. I guess I’d rather he feel rejected over text than to face-to-face.

He handed me his phone to put in my number, and I prayed it was a new phone and the awkwardness of his discovering he’d already ran his game on me wouldn’t come to light.

But no. I punched in my number, and there popped up, “Kelly Vons.”

“Oh. Apparently we already know each other.” I said, feigning surprise. “But you spelled my name wrong.”

“Oh, I’ll have to change that.” He didn’t seem too embarrassed.

“And also change Vons to Barrons,” I winked. “I have to finish my shopping now.”

He texted later that night, asked what plans I had over the weekend.

“It was fun running into you, but to be honest you’re too young for me.  Nevertheless, I look forward to our connecting over the produce at Sprouts some point in the future.” Was my response.

I didn’t hear from him after that, but somehow, I don’t think the Grocery Store Dating Bandit is going to be deterred from running his game and using cheesy pick-up lines in aisle 4 at the grocery store.  

Fair enough, as I shall not be deterred from analyzing how the events of the day came full circle and trying to figure out what it all means in the grand scheme of things, if it means anything at all...