I was still feeling like a grumpy puss throughout Friday, and despite the copious amounts of wine I drank on Friday night when we went out to dinner with friends, I was still in a dour mood when Saturday rolled around. I was stewing about all of the injustices inflicted upon me by the world--you know, no trip abroad, a husband who clearly doesn't give a hoot about me, the cold, dreary weather. We decided to head up to Seattle to see Lucy at the Pacific Science Center, before she left Seattle for the next leg of her American tour, and then go out to dinner with friends.
On the way to the city, I pulled out a piece of gum, casually tossed the wrapper into the console of Colby's car, and became infuriated when he snapped at me to please not just throw my garbage in his car. I mean, sure, I was the one who threw the garbage, but who was HE to talk to ME that way? Never mind the fact that I had probably rolled my eyes at least four times at him throughout the course of the day and made a few not so nicely phrased comments myself. We finished the rest of the long, construction extended drive in silence, each glowering out our respective portions of windshield.
We got the the science center, and slowly began to thaw as first we were forced to talk to each other to figure out how to get to the museum from our parking garage and eventually ended up engaged in a friendly game of mancala. The rest of our stay was relaxed, and we finally got our chance to enter the small, dark room that housed the bones of Lucy and an artists rendition of what she may have looked like.
I stood over the glass case, staring down at the brittle, ivory colored remains of a creature that lived millions of years ago. A mammal somewhere between an animal and a human, a 3 foot 6 inch skeleton of a female who was on the cusp of an entirely new species. A creature who had lived her life, died under unknown circumstances, and was now on display for her ancestors 3.2 million years down the road. Something about that moment gave me a catch in the back of my throat.
Our lives are truly so insignificant. In the grand scheme of things, who are we really but self-important beings that lucked out by being at the top of the food chain, here for maybe 80 years if we're lucky and then gone. In the blink of the eye as far as the earth is concerned. It's easy to think that our small worries and sadnesses, celebrations and happy moments, grudges and angers can change the course of the universe, but in reality, life goes on every day, whether we're happy or sad, angry or joyful, and it is our choice in each moment of our lives to choose our attitude. To choose our paths.
In 3.2 million years the world will never know or care if you were a millionaire or a pauper, if you had a happy life or a sad life, if you were alone or surrounded by people you love. If we are anything to them we will be bones, fossils, relics of an ancient time, a mere stepping stone in the timeline of the past.
After spending time with Lucy, Colby and I went out for drinks while waiting for our friends to arrive in the city. I downed a rasbperry lemon drop and then told Colby that lately I'd been feeling he hadn't really been registering many of my hopes and desires if they didn't affect him directly, or if he didn't feel that they deserved the same amount of importance I did. I told him that I was still hurt that he had forgotten the talent show, that it came as a surprise to him every time I mentioned a trip this summer, or a vacation in France next year. It all came rushing out, some of the things I had been feeling, I didn't even realize until that moment. We sat together, quietly sharing a plate of garlic fries, both thinking about the things that I had said.
Yesterday, I woke up in an empty bed. I came downstairs, bleary eyed and still a little tired, to find a dozen Krispy Kreme donuts waiting for me on the counter. I took a glazed with chocolate frosting and sat down next to Colby on the couch. "July 14-August 22," he said, as I took my first bite. "I put my name in the leave books for the whole time since I wasn't sure when you'd want to go. I can always give some of it back." We started looking at airfare later that morning.
Life is what you make of it. In 3.2 million years, not a single person will care that I spent two weeks in the Northeast in the summer of 2009, but while we spent those few minutes together remarking on the fact that the fares were cheaper than we expected, to me, it felt like the most important moment in the world.
