allensbrain

Serendipity, I love you!  You look good with those sexy block letters.  When I speak or hear your name, my heart fills with joy.  And your essence, your beautifully expounding definition: a penchant for discovering things by accident, or as I like to say, a coincidence beyond coincidence. 

I was walking home from school on a warm January evening.  Turning the corner of 18^th St my stumbled upon the moon, fully bloomed, draped in an amber glow, exquisitely plump, fully exposed on every side. I was transfix by its hypnotic shine as it just hung there, grazing the tips of the San Francisco skyline.

Intuition instructed me to take a photograph.  I whipped out my new I-phone and aimed the camera at the moon.  Just as I was about to push the shutter release button, my screen went dark.  My phone’s ringer began to sing the someone-is-calling-me song, and Daniel Bendett’s name appeared on the phone screen.  Before I could push the ‘answer’ button, we got disconnected for some reason.  I took a few snaps of the moon and then called him back.  “The reason I called was to tell you to go outside and check out the moon,” he said.

Obviously I told him that it just so happened that he called as I was aiming my phone toward that very same moon.  Sharing my excitement with Danny about this fortuitous occurence really made my day. 

There are no accidents.  All events make sense and occur at the same moment in time, in the only moment in time – the moment right here and now. 

To me, this incident was a miracle, but not the kind of miracle that we normally associate with, like the work of some enigmatic dude with a beard sitting up in the sky somewhere doing all sorts of cool stuff here on Earth.  For me, a miracle occurs at any moment, to any of us.  I sincerely believe that a miracle depends only on us.  My definition of a miracle is an event that occurs within you — an awareness of the present moment and a reaction to whatever circumstance that happens in that moment.  My encounter with the moon and with Daniel could be brushed off as a coincidence.  But it deserves a hell-of-a lot more credit than that.  I rank it as a coincidence beyond coincidence — serendipity.

After a nice workout at my gym, Ray and I decided to walk up the street for some lunch.  Ray is personal trainer at Crunch and is a master of Par Core – the art of conditioning the body and mind by learning how to overcome physical obstacles in an urban environment.  In other words, Ray is really good at jumping over things in San Francisco.  I always tease Ray by calling him a ninja because he beautifully displays his stealth and physical potency through humility and compassion.

On our search for food we stumbled upon a little mom-and-pop deli, which specialized in the art of shwarma assembly.  The man behind the counter greeted us warmly.  He had dark skin, a thick black moustache, and a white apron, which lay snug around his bulging belly.  His apron was smeared with an impressive display of yellows, reds, and greens.  They must have been from the food and sauces that he prepared for his costumers that day. 

“What would you like, my friend?” he asked in a deep Arabic accent.  His eyes were warm and his smile implored me to smile back.  I did without hesitation. 

I asked for the chicken shwarma.  He sent the order to the lady-cook at the prep counter.  Ray ordered his food and we sat at the table to wait.  Five minutes later, the lady walked over with two plastic baskets, each cradling a sumptuous wrap of Middle Eastern righteousness.  As she approached us, I notice a frownish display on her face, as if she was guilty of a culpable crime.   I could feel the muscles in my face naturally transforming from a smile to a mimic of her frown.  I could not imagine a reason for sadness related to the delicious morsel of food that was about to be placed in front of us.   She put the baskets on our table and looked at for her husband, who was watching the situation unfold from behind the counter.

“We accidentally made a mixed turkey and lamb sandwich for you,” he said with subtle affliction.  “We can make you another one just with chicken.”

In the first 100^th of a second following his apology I caught my mind dispatching the news to my emotional center.  “I regret to inform you that your expectation (a chicken shwarma) has been begrudged,” said Allen’s brain to Allen.  “You are instructed to be displeased with this situation.”

Nonetheless, I had intercepted this message and immediately transmitted to my emotional center the following orders: “My expectations are full of crap and should be obliterated into outer space.  You are instructed to be grateful for the sandwich that you are currently receiving.”

“Roger that,” replied emotion.  “Changing course at 180 degrees from negative to positive – over. Please taxi into positive mental state position and hold until transformation has been complete.”

“Copy that, over.  Waiting for transformation and instructions for how to respond to lady with sandwich,” replied mind.  (Boy am I a nerd.)

My inner-communication took place in the span of milliseconds, of course.  I put my hands together in gratitude and assured the lady that I would be very happy with a mixed chicken-lamb sandwich.  I threw a little smirk her way and said, “I was secretly hoping that it would be mixed with the two meets anyway.”  She seemed satisfied with my remark and nodded in agreement.

Then the man walked up to us from behind the counter. “You two deserve a cookie,” he said with a magnanimous grin.  “It’s for free. You let me know when you are done and we’ll get you a fresh baked cookie.”  I couldn’t help but send 3 or 4 thank-you’s to him.”

After finishing our sandwiches, Ray and I stood up.  “Ok, it’s time for dessert, gentleman,” the man said. “Which cookie would you like?”

I picked the white chocolate cookie and Ray picked the chocolate chip.  I couldn’t help but smile with joy as I ate the most delicious cookie ever! It was filled with, softness, butterness, sugarness, harmonyness, awareness.  (Yes I know the ‘ness’ is unnecessary, but it’s my story and I like to go Dr. Suess-style and make up words). 

Feeling anger or dissatisfaction from un-met expectations is a bitch-of-a-feeling.  I definitely learned to be grateful within that first 100^th of a second.  Such a tiny dwarf of time passing is all it takes to send a heart on a path of either suffering…or joy.   Make the choice. 

I love old people!  After today’s interaction with an elderly woman, I am now fully excited to talk to as many old people as possible.  In fact if one makes a vow to talk to at least one old person every day, perhaps one’s life will improve. I also simply like the phrase, ‘old people.’  There’s something cool about it.

After a long day of school preparation I made a plan to meet with Dan at Blondie’s bar for a drink.  I dropped off my bags at home and walked out to the street to wait for the J-train.  To my pleasant surprise it was just pulling up to the train stop.  Perfect timing!  Sweet!  The door opened, I walked in.  The door closed.  My hand reached into my pocket to retrieve my wallet.  The train began to move.  I realized I had forgotten my wallet at home.  At the end of the train car, two police officers were checking passengers for proof of payment.  Fuck!  Of all times, this is the time the frekin cops need to check passengers for proof of payment?  Luckily for me, the train arrived at the next stop before the cops got to me.  Fucking bastards!  (Just kidding…I’m happy they’re around, protecting us good citizens, working hard for the government as loyal minions under a brilliant system of extortion and fiscal irresponsibility…Fucking bastards!)  I hurried out the train and all the other passengers shot daggers of smug glares in my direction for assuming that I was one of those jerks who tries to ride the train for free.

I hurried back to my house, picked up my wallet and went back to the train stop.  I checked my computer to see the time for the next arriving train: 20 minutes.  Fuck!  Dan is waiting on me.  I’m so late.  I’m tired!  The whole public transportation system in San Francisco sucks! And why am I such a dumb ass and keep forgetting everything? Sigh! I was feeling irate.

Finally the train arrived and I sat down.  I found myself yearning for a conversation with a stranger on this train.  I had one of those “Just-say- hi” urges. I eavesdropped on a conversation between an elderly lady and a younger gentleman.  Everyone else in the train was too cool and pretentious to make eye contact with me.  I noticed that a high density of groomed mustaches, plat shirts, and skinny jeans, come out in the San Francisco streets during the weekday afternoon hours – probably on their way to meet their other hipster friends at ostentatiously adorned coffee shops or dirty cheap dive bars with walls sprayed with cool graffiti by the hand (and mind) of a white, young, affluent gentlemen, who probably wears fake 1960s-style eye glasses and works on his Apple Macbook while sipping a $9-shot of espresso.  (That was fun to write.  I’m just being playfully snarky.)

“I’m trying to get to a restaurant called Foreign Cinema,” the elderly woman told the man sitting next to me.  “They have really nice red wine.”  The gentleman told her to get off at 16^th St.

16^th St was my stop as well, and I was silently happy for the prospect of helping this lady with further directions.  I followed her off the train and told her that she could walk 4 blocks to the restaurant or wait for the 22 bus to take her there.

She said, “It’s been 25 years since I moved to San Francisco, lived all my life in the Marina.  Yep, I’m a Marina girl. I gave up my car not too long ago because it was just so expensive.”

I got all excited and said, “Yeah! I hear you.  I also gave up my car not too long ago.  And whenever I go to the Marina, I’m just as lost there as you are here.”  She laughed.

I continued, “Not only are we saving tons of money on parking, gas and insurance, but we also are forced to walk and take public transportation.  That way we can meet strangers and say hi to them, just like I met you!”

The woman gave one of those looks that suggested, “Hey, I’ve never thought about it that way but I like that idea!”  And then she said to me, “Hey, I’ve never thought about it that way!”  She chuckled and then said, “Well thank you!  It was nice meeting you!”

As I walked her up to the bus stop I said, “Well there’s your bus stop if you choose to wait.  But these buses come so infrequently.  You may be better off walking.”  When we got to the bus stop, the computer screen displayed “2 minutes” until the next bus.  “Well, there you go!  You got only a two minute wait!”

The lady looked pleased.  “Thank you!” she said with a really cheery voice.

“Enjoy your wine!” I responded.

I was happy.  I remembered myself cursing the public transportation system only 10 minutes before, and cursing myself for being so absent minded.  And then I realized that the damned Muni and my stupid forgetfulness led me to a wonderful few moments of interaction with a complete stranger.  Thank you, Muni for being slow.  Thank you, Allen’s brain for forgetting your wallet.

Note to self: be grateful; don’t hate; talk to old people!