Opening the Drawers

I recently asked a friend whether she knew the gender of her unborn baby. “No,” she said. “There are so few surprises in life already…” I chuckled

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I designed my beautiful white desk myself. It was a Ferrari of a desk, the first piece of furniture my parents bought when we moved homes, and that desk was just like the one my rich friend Karen had — her house had everything, even a pool.

Drawers down both the right and left sides, shelves on both sides, too, connected by a pin board, on which I displayed pictures of my friends and the most important things in my life.

But despite the pin board and books on the shelves, my drawers were a mess — filled to overflowing with random things. Sometimes I’d have to yank twice until they opened, because of the overflow of papers and binders lodged between the seams. I didn’t notice or care, I just prided myself on its existence.

These days I can’t imagine not caring. I recently asked a friend whether she knew the gender of her unborn baby. “No,” she said. “There are so few surprises in life already…” I chuckled. Over the last two and a half years, barely a day has passed without yielding some surprise. Surprises that force me to draw on every ounce of my strength and will.