Written March 1, 2023

Day 8 of 40 in a 45-day period: Being reliant on mass transit means either the connections magically line up or we’re off by just a minute, throwing the rest of the day into a series of missed connections.

It’s like the butterfly effect in chaos theory, when a butterfly flaps its wings at just the right moment halfway across the world that sets a series of events into motion, resulting in a hurricane.

This morning brought with it double pink eye resulting in a rescheduled appointment with the GI specialist that took six weeks to get, and is now rescheduled for five weeks from now. Tears were shed out of frustration and quickly ended in an effort not to touch any eyes. It took three trips to two pharmacies to get eye drops and now begins the wrestling matches to administer said drops.

We missed the first train to school due to passengers already stuffed in like sardines and lucked out with eventual seats on the second one. One kid realized her water bottle was missing, resulting in a route recalculation to grab one from the cart, just missing the light to cross Amsterdam and subsequently, not making it through the purple gate in time for school.

It’s like all those missed connections in relationships, the offhand remark, the bid for connection, the distance growing by a butterfly’s wings flutter that compounds, the opportunities for repair that aren’t taken. Then the wings flutter at another fraction of a second and there’s a new series of events waiting to happen.

Then there’s the next train that has a plethora of empty seats, the water bottle that was left at home ready for the afternoon activities, the possible last minute cancellation to get into the specialist sooner. The days when the stars align and you understand where DJ Khaled’s mind may have been when he wrote the lyrics to “All I Do Is Win.” The days when you feel inspired, the sun is out and so are the signs of spring because the flowers have been tricked to think it’s the beginning of April despite it being the first day of March.

Here’s to the missed and the made connections, and to the butterfly sightings reminding us we can only control so much.