Every once in a while you have one of those drastic moments of clarity. Each one is different - you get them at different times and for different reasons. I wish I could think of a better word than zen.
Things just click.
Here's one I had. Every single thought and more, all in that one moment.
Commute home, late. Hit the grocery store for a bottle of jack because a day like today deserves a familiar ending. Stroll home. Check the mail. Climb the stairs.
Turn on the lights, drop the mail, drop the bag, toss the coat. Empty the pockets.
Cell phone. Pen. Keys. Wallet. Cash.
The cash is always last. Folded over, no clip, it sits in front of the thin leather wallet nicely when stuffed in a pocket, and there's no fumbling with a small piece of medal when you need some of it. But this means it usually comes out last at the end of the day.
Tonight the cash hit the clutter of the desk and I just stared at it.
I'm that guy.
When you were a kid your dad was that guy, if you had one. End of the day, he comes home, he does his unloading routine. Different things back then, maybe fewer things, maybe more, depending on what your dad did during the day. But after so many days, so many cosmically similar 12 hour periods, a very usual routine. One where dad's brain just shut off as the necessities were walked through.
When you were a teen it was your older brother, or maybe that guy in the movies. The aloof, pessimistic detective, who had a toothpick in the front pocket as part of his routine. Or the jetset Wall Street trader who threw down a wad of cash 9 times the size of dad's. The down-on-his-luck factory worker trying to get one last shot as a boxer.
Then one day you wake up and its you. Your cash. Your routine. Your life.
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"If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world."