A couple of days ago I studied the eyes looking back at me in the mirror and decided that the girl on the other side was in serious need of a peptalk. I found a spot in my room with a semi-functioning wifi connection, FaceTimed my best friend in Far Far Away Land, and ordered the desired beverage. Désirée is basically to be described as one big ball of sunshine and during this FaceTime call I felt those rays of sunshine slowly making their way towards me. Her optimism – this highly contagious thing – seeped through the digital connection and found its way to me.
It was only during this phenomenon that I realised something: somehow, slowly and unnoticed, I had lost my own small supply of sunshine. I’ve always had the privilege to describe myself as an optimist, but coming to think of it now I must’ve misplaced this trait back at the ICU when I believed I was going to suffocate. Of course I did notice that I wheeled out those hospital doors a different person – cliché but true – but I never really noticed losing this. After realising my recklessness I’ve now vowed to be more mindful of where I put my stuff, and I’m basically trying to clutch it in my fist as I’m typing.
Later that evening I sat at the kitchen table while retyping my resume and mentally prepping myself to send out some job applications as I witnessed another interesting thing happen: my new-found optimism must’ve somehow spread out and it honestly seemed as if the universe was bouncing it back to me. Things fell into place and stuff just somehow happened. Again; cliché but true. It echoed along the walls and reflected back at me.
Not like a solid thing you can actually grasp, an object made out of a certain arrangement of atoms forming molecules. More like these invisible yet evident beams, cascading all over the place at unknown wavelengths and bouncing back into my lap, emitting tiny rays of sunshine as they go about.