Winning the Lottery

I was reading a book today, and for a funeral it's describing in immense detail, these famous people showing up as part of the mourning party. Curious, I whipped out my phone and googled the names of said celebrities....only to realize, when I wasn't getting the results I was looking for, that my book is fictional. As in, these people don't actually exist in real life, and here I was googling them and expecting photos. I hate it when I confuse reality with imagination, but perhaps that's just the strength of a good writer, the ability to make one's imagination seem real.

Getting jury duty is my equivalent of winning the lottery. I wouldn't know what that's like, as I've never been lucky enough to win jury duty. Why can't jury duty be a real profession? Why? Hasn't anyone ever considered this? You get to make decisions on really important things! You get a long lunch break. And your hours are 10-5 or less, depending on the court cases. And you get to witness the modern-day equivalent of Harvey and Mike from Suits, in action. In baseball we have what's called a designated hitter...why not a designated juror? I'm just saying, if someone wanted to appoint me their designated juror, I would serve their duty with reason and enthusiasm, free from passion. (a modern-day take on Aristotle)

This has been the week of terrible mornings. Which is odd, because I typically consider myself an above average morning person. Today, the temple was out of hot water due to construction on the block. In my noblest intentions I considered experiencing ordinance work as performed in the 1800s, when cold water was the norm. But--just thinking about it made me start to shiver, and that was even before I got close to the water. This also meant showering was out of the question, but you'd think I had gone for a blowout when I showed up at work today. Apparently the slightly greasy, three-day old curled ends look is SO in, or perhaps my coworkers are just surprised not to see my hair frizzed out like a lion's mane. New York humidity wreaks havoc on my hair.

Yesterday morning shall not be named thanks to the disaster that was a press release at 3 AM, so we'll skip right to the crescendo that was my week. Tuesday morning I made it to the gym, despite the fact that Fall is being shoved aside by its bigger and meaner sister, Winter. I mean seriously, I haven't even had time to break out the leather jacket and we are going straight to puffer coats?! I'm holding out hope for a strong Indian Summer appearance. I was running late from the gym to work, so I decided to schlep the few blocks to work in my flip flops. Three blocks into my walk and I couldn't even begin to feel my toes and I witnessed a Cadillac SUV get into a heated argument with an MTA bus. Heated is actually an understatement, when you consider that it was across the street and I've never heard so many creative uses of screaming F-bombs. I shook my head as I shuffled my feet, thinking how awful it must be to start out your morning that upset and angry, and it's not even 9 AM. I got my usual bagel, despite the fact that I wake up each morning swearing off carbs. Which is worse- 2 cups of oatmeal covered by 3 cups of brown sugar, or a bagel with cream cheese? See how carbs can be less evil when compared to a sweetened cup of oatmeal?

I had just crossed the street, bagel and wallet taking up one hand, keys, phone, ID card taking up the other hand, gym bag on one shoulder, purse on the other, simultaneously scrolling through emails, when...I went full on AIRBORNE. It wasn't a stub-your-toe kind of stumble. It was a flying superman, shoes ripped off, purse spraying its contents over the sidewalk, bagel flying, wallet flying, phone flying...kind of disaster. I somehow crash landed on my knees, and since it was cold, I didn't really feel anything. Enter a slew of good samaritans running around scooping up lipsticks, bagel, wallet, phone, old receipts, flyaway papers, and other random junk I keep in my purse. It wasn't until I actually walked through my office doors that I noticed I had skinned my knees and detoured towards the first-aid cupboard we have on hand. I felt like an idiot slapping on band-aids without a courageous story accompanying them. I've since healed, though the days of speed walking to work in flip flops have now reached extinction.

NYC as seen from my new apartment

I read a very interesting speech called "The Best is Yet to Be" by Jeffrey R. Holland. It talks about the perils of living your life in the past, of looking back and *longfully* wishing for the life you used to have. His point was, every once in a while it's good to look back at the past, take the lessons you've learned, and apply them in making your present and future decisions. It's not ok, to look back, with resentment, wishing you could go back, alter something, or remain untouched by the winds of change. Sometimes, it can seem so much easier to develop an attachment to the past, rather than a confidence in the future. Why is that?

"And when we have learned what we need to learn and have brought with us the best that we have experienced, then we look ahead, we remember that faith is always pointed toward the future."

When I read this, I thought of the times I've moved, struggling with the apparent "opportunity" to start over and make new friends. When you take away the fear that the best is already behind you, you are filled with an excitement for the things that lay in store, a new, better, BEST. With each opportunity, my life has been given more meaning and fulfillment than the last, also maybe different/greater struggles, but that's the yin-yang of joy vs pain. In the past, my fears included winding up in a podunk town in the midwest, settling for less than my potential, or not being able to have children. 

In light of the best is yet to be, fears lose their meaning, replaced by faith in a purpose, mission, and a knowledge that "God doesn’t care nearly as much about where you have been, as He does about where you are and, with His help, where you are willing to go."

The question that I keep asking myself, is not what am I afraid of, it's where am I willing to go?

Love,
Lo

New kitchen, new opportunity to be the next Martha Stewart