The Earth travels around the sun at a whopping 67,000 miles per hour, and it's not slowing down. With the days rushing by at such breakneck speed, who has time to squander on "just another day?" The days of the calendar are limited. That's why I felt a sense of urgency when I entered Ms. Wonder's sanctum—for I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep.
"Wonder," I said, "the glad new year has gotten off to a great start, don't you think?"
"Not bad," she said, leaving me wishing she'd be more attentive. I realized she was on the clock—focused on her upcoming solo photography exhibition in New York. But still... you know how it is.
"Not bad?" I said. "I might go as far as to call it a perfect beginning. We were up before the sun, whispers in the air, as the poet would have it, and we've completed four of the nine steps already."
"Nine steps?" She looked up briefly. "Are you talking about that article I asked you to read in Vanity Fair?"
"Vanity Fair if it suits you," I said. "It might have been Vanity Fair, or it could have been one of those forever ads that pop up on YouTube from time to time."
"Forever ads?" she said, already turning back to her screen.
"Yeah, the ones that go on and on, page after page, promising to share the secrets to a happy life. You scroll for what feels like hours while some life coach tells you about their transformative journey. You know the ones I mean."
"Have we completed three of the steps already?" Her words were in the correct order, but she didn't ask the question with any real interest. She seemed engrossed in something on her computer screen—probably something far more practical than my spiritual accounting.
"Four," I said. "The first step was to Wake Up, which we did without effort. And then the day came..."
"What are you talking about? Ooooh," she asked, "it’s that poem, isn't it? I don't have time for poetry this morning, so don't try me. And waking up doesn't sound like a step to bring about change."
"I disagree, Wonder. I believe waking up is a brilliant first step. You open your eyes to a new day and immediately feel a sense of accomplishment. It's basically a participation trophy for consciousness. What could be better?"
"Fine," she said with the resignation of someone who knows resistance is futile. "Go with it if it makes you happy."
"The second step in the list is Morning Walk, and I think you'll agree we did that."
"Hmm, mmm," she said, clearly not paying attention.
"The third step," I continued undaunted, "is Breakfast, which we've finished. After that comes Meditation, followed by Lunch, and then Exercise. We haven't gotten to those yet, but number seven on the list is Socialize, and I took care of that on my trip to the grocery store."
"Grocery shopping doesn't count as socializing," she said without looking up.
“Alright, now that's out of the way, it's time for the big reveal. Wonder, I've had one of those serendipitous experiences."
"Oh, well, why didn't you say that in the first place? Spill it and keep in mind, I can only spare three minutes for this."
I took a breath and launched in. "As I walked past the dairy case in the Food Lion, I noticed an elderly lady having a heated conversation with her shopping cart."
"You don't see that every day."
"Right?" I said. "I've learned to pay close attention to such rare events because something interesting often happens. This was one of those occasions. The lady had a certain look about her. She seemed the type whose favorite cookie is oatmeal raisin and who might be called Ethel by her friends."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because she wore her hair in a style that hasn't been seen since the first half of the last century—I'm talking Truman administration vintage. She reminded me of a great-aunt who answered to the name mentioned. My aunt and her sister Molly lived in Shady Grove and watched Days of Our Lives every afternoon while eating said oatmeal raisin cookies."
"Alright, I get it. What was she discussing with her cart?"
"She explained that the cart seemed to have a mind of its own. It's not true, of course. While I have no doubt that her cart's mental state differs significantly from hers, most neuroscientists would argue that a shopping cart does not possess free will."
"I can relate," she said dryly. "Even now, listening to you tell this story, I'm questioning mental states and minds."
It always lifts my spirits to know that I've caught her interest. There's nothing I enjoy more than giving her something to think about. So, with renewed vigor, I pressed on.
"I asked Ethel if the wheels squeaked too. My cart’s wheels did, but she explained that no, while she could abide the cart moving in directions she didn't intend—a reasonable enough inconvenience—squeaky wheels would be crossing the line. She has her standards."
"Hmmm," said Wonder, and turned back to her computer.
We Genomes are quick to take a hint, and we don't need to be told twice. We live by the adage that Life comes fast and hard, and it pays to be ready for anything. Whoever knocks at the door, meet them laughing and invite them in. I read that somewhere. It might have been Vanity Fair.
I decided to drive into Wilmawood and see what was happening at Bodega Coffee Cafe. Something exciting is always brewing there—both literally and figuratively. And remember, the Earth is traveling around the sun at 67,000 miles an hour, so there's no time to waste on people who won't appreciate your grocery store epiphanies.
Four steps down, five to go. I'd call that progress.
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