Sometimes, I’m just lucky. There’s no reason for it. There’s no decent explanation. It’s just a fact. I did nothing and I got lucky (um, not that kind of lucky).

Last Friday, my phone rang on the way home from work and I was invited to “not have plans on Saturday.” That’s it. That’s all I got to know. Make no plans for Saturday and be up and ready by 8:00 a.m. Yeah, maybe a little early but hopelfully worth it?!?

So up and ready at 7:30 a.m., I was. Which, obsessive as I am, gave me time to vacuum, clean the bathroom and empty the dishwasher. Ninety minutes of cleaning packed into 25. I guess you could say I was a little pumped about my surprise day.

At 8:01 a.m., my doorbell rings and [since I'm standing right in front of it waiting for said ring] I run to answer it.

“Ready?”

“Yes, where are we going?”

“Breakfast.”

Breakfast? Hmmm… maybe it’s some new, exotic, wonderful breakfast mystery that I’ve never heard of? Maybe it’s a homemade breakfast? Maybe it’s just IHOP (please, Lord, no).

So a 20 minute car ride later, I’m getting antsy. “OK, where are we going? I have to know where we’re going.”

“Surprise. Just wait.”

Grrr. About 25 minutes after that, we arrive in a town just north of home at a small little cafe I’ve never seen. I’m excited but still a little confused as to why we had to drive 45 minutes to breakfast. Can it be that good?

Well, let me tell you, it was some gooooood eatin’. I hate to use words like that but when omelets taste so good you swear all the ingredients must have fallen from heaven together because there’s no way a human could concoct this, that there is gooooood eatin’. After breakfast I slowly came out of my coma and thanked this dear person for taking me to this place. Who knew heaven was a 45 minute trip from home?

“I have something else.”

“Really?” I am shocked. Don’t you know food is enough for me?

“Yes. Here, what do you think of these?”

Woah, this person is really trying to get to me. Right then, in my hot little hands, were tickets to a hockey game. Not just any little game, but a game that happens to match a couple pretty good rivals (more so in years past, but the popularity hasn’t changed). Tickets are hard to come by, to say the least.

“Ha!” I exclaim. And I hardly ever exclaim. “Is this serious?”

“Yep. Ready to go?”

Am I?? If being ready means that you’ve just had the greatest surprise of the year and possibly the best breakfast ever and you’re jumping out of your seat and into the car in one bound, then yes, I’m ready.

Off we went to the game. It was tons of fun, loud fans around us, beer just after noon and the home team lost. The perfection of the day could be dimmed by nothing.

On the ride home I just had to ask, “How did you get those tickets? Did you have to sell something? Bribe somebody? What?”

“Just had them laying around.”

Yeah, right. I guess I may never know. Though I’m guessing there could be a very bummed best friend out there somewhere that is now “owed big” by someone.

I felt bad for just a minute. Then again, maybe it was just my lucky day.

Standing in line with about six thousand others at the post office today, I realized something. All these people want the same thing. We want to take care of our own business and get out of there. We equally wanted the same thing, I think. While I realize this isn’t incredibly insightful, it started the wheels turning.

Last summer, after months of training and preparation, I ran a race up a mountain. The mountain was Pikes Peak and the race was the Pikes Peak Ascent. At the end of this race the clouds, hail and snow were rolling in over the mountain, effectively leaving about 800 people stranded at the top of a mountain for several hours. Walking around the small snack bar and gift shop at the top of the mountain, I came toe to toe with another runner. We did the back-and-forth dance and then just stopped and laughed at one another, exhausted. We didn’t say a word but looking into her eyes, I knew we just wanted the same thing: to go home.

Once, when I was 9, my dog ran away. This wasn’t the first time but still, we went looking for him. I rode my bike around the neighborhood for an hour before running into a kid named Jack who lived up the road. Jack was looking for his dog, too. We chatted about our dogs for a minute and then Jack, being only 7, began to cry. I tried to be strong and encouraging telling Jack he would find his dog and I would help him look while I was looking for my dog, too. I told him it would be OK. Then, as I pedaled off in the opposite direction, tears began streaming down my face. I was the same as Jack, I just wanted to find my dog.

In my sophmore year in college, I took a literature class in which the professor demanded we all read the book assigned and then stand in front of the class and report back on the book. Yes, 20 years old, expensive college tuition and book reports. The 5th grade all over again, but with a hangover. Katie sat next to me in class and was completely terrified of public speaking. I told her it was no big deal, all she had to do was talk about the book, nothing personal. Katie, being a much better and more thoughtful student than I, was worried about her grade, about the class not liking her report, about stumbling over her words and about everyone staring at her. It wasn’t until she stated all her fears that I realized I may have some too. Or even worse, should I have some and don’t? Katie and I became much closer that semester than I’d imagined. Both living with doubts and fears but she being the only one able to admit them.

Yesterday, I read the blog of a stranger. I’ve never met this man and likely, never will. Yet, the thoughts he expressed about his life were eerily similar to my own. He wrote of having everything that anyone should need and yet, doubted his ability to survive. He wrote of having no reason to feel bad and yet, he did. He wrote of coping and struggling and dealing with life and I identified. Turns out, he just wanted peace, some acceptance, and a little love. Yes, don’t we all. We are the same.