Trader Joe’s is my own personal wonderland. It’s my happy place. With its friendly staff, above-average customer service, and healthy snacks, I really can’t get enough. I don’t do all my grocery shopping there, but there are a few staples that I pick up regularly. And it seems as though each time I leave, I have a story to tell. This week’s visit was no different.

While waiting for the cashier to ring me up, an adorable, yet cranky, toddler nearby caught my attention. She was doing her best half-cry, half-whine while firmly planted in the “pick me up NOW” stance. Mom was busy tending to one twin baby boy in the stroller, while Grandma was holding the other close in a carrier. In the sweetest, most patient voice, she tried to soothe the little one. “Mommy can’t pick you up right now, sweetie. You’re going to have to stand.” It was close to 9:00 PM at this point, and clearly past this kid’s bedtime. But, I presumed Mom made the trip at this hour for the same reason I did – less crowded and easier to maneuver around the store (obviously way more of a necessity for her than me). Or, maybe it simply took longer than expected to get everyone out of the house. Who knows?

In any event, I exited the store and grabbed my two bags out of the cart. As I turned around to head to my car, I was legs-to-face with the cute toddler who was no longer crying, but giving me the hard “I don’t know you” stare. Mom was right behind her, trying to steer the stroller and guide Grandma, who was now in charge of one baby and the cart, to the ramp. “Jordan, move over so the lady can get by.” Little Jordan was having none of that. Mom was now visibly frustrated, probably having used her last ounce of patience in the checkout line. I said “hi” to Jordan in that high-pitched voice we all use when addressing any child under three feet, lifted my bags over her head, and skirted around her. Just as I walked past the rest of the clan, Mom and I locked eyes. In that moment, I felt a twinge of envy of her entire life. Ironically, she looked at fancy-free me in my cutoff shorts, bogged down by only those two shopping bags and a Coach wristlet, like she yearned for the days of old. We  always want what we can’t have, don’t we? Often true, but this post isn’t about that….or how the grass always looks greener on the other side. It’s really about honesty…honesty with ourselves about our own emotional wellbeing.

In the ten minutes it took me to drive back to my place, I started to feel incredibly empty. Par for the course for a single thirty-something, one might say…but this was new for me. Sure, I’ve had my moments, but they have been few and far between, and more about feeling “behind” than any intense longing. If you know me personally, you know that I  generally don’t make a big deal about not being married or having kids yet. I cheer for my friends when they get engaged or find out they’re pregnant. I buy great shower gifts, celebrate like it’s happening to me, wish them well, and get on with life. I mean, I look forward to those life events, but the fact that they have eluded me never exactly put me in the fetal position. Truth is, I usually revel in the benefits of being a bachelorette. But lately, I’ve had to acknowledge the pang of watching other people experience the joyous milestones that seem so out of reach in my own life. I’m not sure what flipped that emotional switch on for me. Perhaps it was the sheer volume of engagements, weddings, pregnancies and childbirths that I’ve been privy to lately. Or maybe it was this painfully candid song by India.Arie that I’ve been listening to nonstop. Or worse, could it have been that recent courtship that started out like a burgeoning real relationship, but abruptly ended more like a summer fling? I didn’t know what caused this sudden hole in my heart, but I did know that I was one Johnson & Johnson commercial away from crying into a bowl of slow-churned butter pecan ice cream.

I wish I could tell you that I’ve completely worked through all of these not-so-great emotions that have disrupted my usual M.O. of accepting my life as it is. Instead, the real story is that I’m not even sure I can fully describe what I’m feeling in this moment. My natural inclination was to wait until I’m on the other side of this to write about it, but doing so would completely go against what this site is about – being extraordinary on an ordinary.

We Twenty-Sixers can be a bit enigmatic. We’re often empathetic and nurturing to a fault, but tend to ignore our own fragility. We know how to play the hand we’re dealt. We can take life’s bumps and bruises without batting an eye, and tend to discount our hurt and longing for fear of appearing weak. But part of being extraordinary on an ordinary day is having the courage to admit how bad you sometimes feel when life doesn’t go according to plan. Have you taken stock of what’s eating you lately? If not, I’m giving you permission to do so today. No, I am not encouraging you to wallow in self pity. I’m encouraging you to be honest in an effort to get yourself on the path to “happy.” The first step to conquering negative emotions is acknowledging that they exist. Take stock. Mull it over. Seek help if you must. Face all the “junk” and make every effort to overcome it before it overtakes you.

Driving in New York City is every bit as frustrating as you think it would be. The taxis constantly cutting you off, the horn blowing, the headphone wearing pedestrians who just love to text while jaywalking. And let’s not forget the never-ending search for street parking. For these reasons, I pretty much leave my car parked during the week and make full use of public transit (which comes with its own frustrations, but I digress). On a weeknight a couple of weeks ago, I made a split decision to meet up with a friend in Brooklyn shortly after getting home from the office.

I’m always down for a hang in Brooklyn…until I start thinking about the logistics of getting there from my place. “Ugh. The last thing I feel like doing after commuting home is getting BACK on a bus or a train to Brooklyn. Maybe I’ll just drive. Parking won’t be as bad. Plus, it will be super late when I head home.” And late it was. Around 3:00 AM, I’m driving along Canal Street and hit a sea of break lights. Great. Now, NYC is notorious for bumper-to-bumper traffic at random times. It once took me nearly an hour to get through one traffic light on a Sunday afternoon. But this was ridiculous. The cause – a closed lane in the Holland Tunnel…which I was planning to take. *Long sigh*  Ok, Lincoln Tunnel it is. I attempt to bypass the gridlock and keep it moving, but a garbage truck has decided it’s a good idea to block the intersection. So I wait. Well, a man behind me decides he doesn’t want to do the same, and tries to go around me and the garbage truck. Before I have a chance to process what is happening, I hear it. That sound of two cars, mine and his, scraping each other…paint to paint. *Another long sigh accompanied by an eye roll*

Much to my surprise, this dude does. not. stop. So, I do what any self-respecting city dweller would do. I chase after him. I watch the news enough to know that confrontation is not a good idea; so I plan to just get his license plate number and deal with it later. Imagine this scene – the person who just swiped your car is directly in front of you. Stopped at a red light. Like nothing happened. I just shake my head and grab my phone to jot down the plate number, when a cop car pulls up next to me and hits the quick siren. I immediately think I’m about to get nailed for texting while driving when the officer in the passenger seat motions for me to roll my window down.

“Did that guy just hit you?”

“Yes,” I say flatly.

“Pull over and just stay in your car.”

They go straight into Aggressive NYPD Mode and corner the guy. He immediately shows both hands, all “don’t shoot” style (for the record, I do NOT blame him). Long story short, he was not drunk, or even purposely trying to get away. Hence, the calmly stopping at a red light not even two blocks up. I think he was just tired and didn’t realize he grazed my vehicle. In any event, we politely exchange information. I agree to delay filing a police report as long as he starts the process of getting the minor damage repaired in the next couple of days. But, of course, not before half-jokingly informing him that I am a lawyer. A lawyer who is not afraid to hunt him down and sue.

During the whole half hour spent on the side of a city street, I was more tired than upset. Once I was finally on my way, all I could think was, “At least I got his information. Seems like a decent enough guy. Hope he comes through.” Thankfully, he did. As promised, he met me at the auto-body shop a couple of days later. We got a fair estimate and decided to use the place.

“Hey, I’m out of the country for two weeks. Can you schedule the repair for when I return? I’d like to be here when the work is done…just to make sure it’s satisfactory.” My antennas didn’t go up. I actually believed him, so I agreed. Plus, as a chick who’s negotiated  car purchases and dealt with shady mechanics and the like all on her own, it felt good to have someone who wanted to look out for me for once. As promised, he reached out exactly two weeks later, and we made plans to meet once again at the auto body place.

I arrived promptly this morning, and as promised, he showed. Yes. Still honest people left in the world. We exchanged pleasantries.

“How was your trip?” I asked.

“Amazing. I was on tour in Singapore with an orchestra. I’m a trumpet player. Are you into music at all?”

Now if you’ve read the About section of this site, you know that my law practice is entertainment related, and I’m a certified “music head.” And if you know me personally, you know that for many other reasons, he couldn’t have asked me a more perfect question. As it turns out, that accident at 3:00 AM was no accident at all. What I thought was a random encounter turned into 1. legal work, 2. a request to speak at a prominent organization, and 3. the possibility of collaborating on another project I’m working on. And as I type this blog post, I received a text saying that the repairs are paid for, and my car is ready to be picked up. I’m still kind of stunned at how this all played out.

I was talking to my brother about the whole chain of events, and he responded, “good thing you weren’t hostile with him that night.” Yeah, good thing. I guess there is something to this whole idea of keeping calm and carrying on. I’m getting better at it. Mainly because I’ve finally realized that nothing has ever happened to me. Every chapter of my story – the good, the great, the bad, and the gut-wrenching – has happened for me. Don’t get me wrong. I’m still trying to find the silver lining in some things (yeah, that one jerk from 2006 to 2009…nevermind). But for much of my story, I’m well aware that some of my greatest disappointments were actually dodged bullets. And some of the choices that I felt forced to make ended up ushering in some of the most amazing opportunities I have yet to encounter.

So when the difficulties of life creep up from behind and sideswipe your plans, take a deep breath. Know that it’s never a coincidence. Learn the lesson. Expect the blessing. And keep on keeping on.