Are all women as fatalistic as me?

There have been times when life has been too perfect and I feel as though I am reading from one of those magazine articles or listening to a news report narrated by commanding voice like Stone Phillips. “It was a typical, ordinary day…no foreshadowing of the misery to come.”

Jakub leaves and we are happy. He finally has a great job that he worked towards for so long. I am pregnant with our first child. Our apartment is painted in happy spring colors. We have wonderful friends and family. I keep waiting for the drama, for the bottom to fall out. I worry when he leaves for work and doesn’t IM me, or text me saying that he got there safely. I worry when I leave the house that something will happen to me and the baby- and not just the beginning of labor.

Maybe I am a product of this television era. I have seen one too many Law and Orders, and CSI. I no longer believe in fairy tales and princesses, but do believe in being at the wrong place at the wrong time, in muggings and random violence. I somehow think that if I think bad thoughts that I will prevent them from coming true. After all, it is always those who say “I never thought this could happen to me” that it happens to. I am building this little protective layer through my dark and morbid fantasies.

On the other hand, maybe this is my way of living in the moment? I appreciate the joy that is in my life and know that in an instant this all could be taken away. Where would my life be without Jakub? Without my son? My family? My friends?

It is amazing how small and how big we are in this life. The people I see on the street in this cafe have no idea who I am, as I have no idea who they are, or the struggles they have seen and overcome. And yet, if I or them were to disappear from this life how many lives would be affected? They are someone center of the universe. I am someones center of the universe. The world would continue without us. Life, and probably the life of those we touched would continue. It might be like the city street outside the cafe window- a little stop and go, but still it all keeps rolling along.

How can we be so important and so insignificant? My life is so important to me, and those scattered few who know me. But I have no claim to fame, or infamy. My lasting contributions to life have been slim to none, and might just end up being my son, and his future family. I am but a branch in the tree of generations, not affecting any forest or lands, just adding a piece of the whole.

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