“My god, she’s so stunning.”
I said this to myself, about Jennifer Aniston, while thumbing through People magazine’s Red Carpet Edition at my sister’s kitchen table. I was drinking a Fresca. Which, of course, has nothing to do with anything other then it being my dad’s favorite soda. Well, it was his favorite soda. I don’t know if they have soda in heaven. Or for that matter, if there is a heaven. But if so, I hope they have Fresca in their vending machines up there. And I hope they’re free. That’s the least God could do for us.
One of my nephews, who’s ten years old, was standing behind me and looking at the pictures over my shoulder.
“All of these people are so lucky,” he said.
I straightened him out with, “Actually man, some of them are ridiculously talented actors.”
“Yeah, but they were born that way,” he responded.
To look him in the eye, I twisted my head around as far as I could like an owl and I told him that he was right.
This is when I’d normally make a pithy point about using your gifts so you can become lucky too. Or maybe I’d say something about not comparing your gifts to others. But then again, I could take this in the direction of idolization of celebrities who are probably thousands of leagues below you on the evolutionary scale.
But to paraphrase the Oracle in Matrix Reloaded, you’re just going to have to make up your own damn mind about what you want this to mean. If anything.
Because right now, the only thing I care about is what happened forty-six years ago today. My parents got married.
Is there luck in life?
I don’t know.
Is there a heaven?
I don’t know.
Is there a hell?
Yes. For fucking sure there is.
It’s the stew we sit in when we’re trapped in our haunting thoughts.
So, I’m going to get up from my laptop and figure out how to spread some kindness today.
Especially to myself.
It’s the least, or maybe the most, I can do with my day.
Maybe it’s the path to whatever heaven there is. While we’re still here.
As always, with love and gratitude,