This morning, on our way to school, we drove past a three-car accident, exactly where I make a left turn every weekday morning. Nobody was seriously injured, but the three cars looked to each have several thousand dollars’ worth of damage. Fire trucks and police had not arrived yet.

The accident had happened maybe two minutes prior, or about the amount of extra time the kids and I took getting ready to leave this morning, as our daughter changed out of jeans and into leggings at the last minute, much to my consternation.

On Friday, as a volunteer colleague of mine and I were walking out of our little office and heading home, after spending several hours working on a project, I said, “This is amazing. We’re done. That was too easy. Something’s going to blow up in our face.”

Not thirty seconds later, we ran into a staff member who was pointing out exactly that: a “something” that blew up in our collective face.

I feel compelled to tread lightly. I feel like I’m about a minute ahead of something really good or about a minute behind something really bad. I keep trying to find patterns, aware of the eeriness of timing and coincidences.  I’m waiting and watching, as if I can actually see “it” coming, whatever “it” is.


The kids and I watched “Return of the Jedi” yesterday. Our daughter was fidgety throughout the movie, while our son sat nearly motionless, transfixed. She asked questions relentlessly, about why characters were doing what they were doing, how the characters would fare in the future, what various events meant with respect to other events… He was just watching the action, absorbing fully all plot developments.

I asked if they liked the movie.

He said, “Yeah! I’m not scared one bit.”

She said, “I like it, but… I’m not scared, or worried… it’s, I don’t know, it’s hard to explain.”

“Suspense,” I offered. “I think you’re feeling suspense. You don’t know what’s going to happen, and you want to know. You feel like you might know, that you could guess, but you have to wait to find out. It’s fun, but not really.”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “That’s what it is. Not-fun fun.”


I think I can stand about 31 more days of treading lightly, of having not-fun fun. I know I can.

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