The Becoming Code

The mug stayed in the dishwasher all day.

I noticed it at 7:18 yesterday morning.

I’d opened the dishwasher for a plate.

The plate came out.

Then I saw the mug.

There were other things in there too.

Normally, once I’ve noticed something unfinished, that’s the end of the argument.

I finish it.

Instead, I closed the door.

Made tea.

Went to work.

The strange part wasn’t leaving it there.

The strange part was remembering it in the car.

A completely innocent mug sitting in a perfectly safe dishwasher.

By the time I reached work, I’d almost forgotten about it.

Almost.

That evening I opened the dishwasher.

Still there.

Of course it was.

I took the mug out and made tea in it.

No breakthrough.

The kitchen wasn’t transformed.

Nobody congratulated me on my personal growth.

There was just something oddly satisfying about discovering that an unfinished thing had remained unfinished all day.

And the world had apparently found a way to continue.

Someone asked me yesterday if Thursday worked.

I checked my calendar.

“No, I can’t.”

And then something slightly strange happened.

Nothing.

Normally there would have been another paragraph.

Why Thursday didn’t work.

What I already had scheduled.

How I might rearrange it.

An assurance that I wasn’t being difficult.

Perhaps an apology for having a calendar that contained something other than what they wanted.

Yesterday, none of it arrived.

There was a short pause.

Then:

“Friday?”

“Friday works.”

That was the entire conversation.

Twenty minutes later I was still thinking about the sentences I hadn’t said.

Not because they would have changed the answer.

I think I had simply become accustomed to providing evidence that my answer was reasonable.

Apparently, “No, I can’t” survived without witnesses.

I went back to work.

I have a blue shirt I really like.

I’ve owned it for years.

I almost never wear it.

No idea why.

Monday morning, I opened the wardrobe and reached for the white shirt beside it.

Then took the blue one instead.

That was it.

No reinvention.

Nobody at work noticed.

By lunchtime, I’d forgotten about it too.

Then I caught myself in the elevator mirror on the way home.

Blue shirt.

Oh, right.

I smiled at how completely insignificant the whole thing had been.

And how strange it was that I’d spent years choosing the other shirt without ever really choosing it.

There are probably more blue shirts in my life than I realize.

Not actual shirts.

Things I like.

Things I want.

Things I already own.

Things I’ve somehow learned to walk past without asking why.

I’m becoming curious about those.

Not because every small preference contains some profound truth.

Sometimes you just like the blue shirt.

And perhaps that’s reason enough.

6:42 AM.

Tea.

Slightly burned toast.

Quiet house.

7:04 AM:

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

Sunday had started.

Things I did recently with no measurable return:

Browsed a record shop.

Took the longer road because I like it.

Read twenty pages of a book I’m not learning anything from.

Made tea and forgot about it.

Looked at a dog that wasn’t mine for an unreasonable amount of time.

A surprisingly successful week.

Sometimes I catch myself doing the exact thing I’ve spent months understanding.

Which is inconvenient.

I had assumed awareness came with better customer service.

I used to think:

I can do this now.

meant:

I should do this now.

I’m beginning to suspect those are two different sentences.

“You’re quiet.”

“I know.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yep.”

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

“Okay.”

And then, wonderfully, nothing happened.

Which completely insignificant thing do you actually have a strong preference about?

Window or aisle.

Firm or soft pillow.

Where you sit at the table.

Tea strength.

How early you arrive at the airport.

The temperature of the room.

Mine is ________.

No profound explanations required.