The Spontaneous Fulfillment of Desire
Life can sometimes feel like an evening of Scrabble with all the vowels missing. Especially on a cold evening in January, when conversation with even the most scintillating of folks is reduced to an endless stream of scarf-muffled consonants.
But there are moments, even in darkest winter, that widen your eyes, quicken your heart and hoodwink your reason like a well-executed magic trick.
Here's one of the moments that I adore: When I'm walking down the street listening to music on my headphones and something in the outside world synchronizes with or complements my private soundtrack exactly. Suddenly, a man's stride perfectly matches the tempo. Or the subway's three-tone door-close salute is in the same key. Or a commuter with three strands of bleached-blonde hair peeking out from under her tuque looks up just at the song's climax and -- dramatic cymbal crash! -- cracks a semi-smile.
These instants of synchronicity are electric and thrill me like, I don't know, the first time I caught a fly ball. Everything aligned right and I don't know how but it's great, just great, and I didn't let it slip through my fingers.
All this to say that my microwave just beeped in time with Franz Ferdinand. It was awesome. If every moment of awesomeness was immediately followed by a warm bowl of soup, life would be too perfect to bear.