Every single red light

It had been, Jeremy thought, that kind of day.

Driving home in the dark after running errands, every stoplight had turned red just before they arrived. Every one.

As Jeremy thought about his day, it seemed that the light had changed at every intersection of thought and action. Just when it seemed that there was momentum on anything, he had to stop.

And then he realized that he had spent far more time talking with his wife than he had spent at red lights. He had spent more time talking with a friend than he had spent waiting on hold, waiting on water to boil, and waiting for an idea. Combined. He had gotten the answer to a worrisome question in far less time than he had spent worrying.

And Jeremy realized that it had, indeed, been that kind of a day. The kind of day that reminds you that your problems are smaller than your opportunities and joys.

Not every day is like that. Jeremy knew that some days are full of dying and suffering and rejection and abandonment. But some days are like this. And to waste frustration on moments of inconvenience when there were hours for which gratitude was the right response seemed silly.

Now that he thought about it, that is.

At a red light which finally stilled his heart.