Recently, I stopped by Trader Joe’s since it’s the time of year when the store is filled to the brim with seasonal delights (Pumpkin bagels? Yes, please. Pumpkin pancakes? Why not? Pumpkin ravioli? Start boiling the water). The ‘ber months are here and you better believe that the Trader Joe’s shelves won’t let you forget it.
While I was debating between regular or pumpkin cream cheese, I remembered that I should pick up some cards. I wheeled my cart over to the card station to peruse the greeting cards. I flipped through wedding best wishes and punny birthday toasts, and as I plucked cards from their respective categories, I realized that I needed them all. Not all the cards per se (although, it wouldn’t be a surprise as I have not one, but two card-storage boxes at home), but that I was in a rare slice of time when all of the life events were materializing simultaneously.
I wish I could say that it was all joyous, but it wasn’t. I wish I could tell you that it was all “for better,” but there were, unfortunately, cards needed for the “worse.” While viewing cards with decadent desserts and sparkling diamonds, I was also glimpsing muted landscapes and splashes of flowers with sympathetic messages. There were frosted cakes and sprinkles, pink and blue diapers, cloudy dark skies, and phrases either spelled out in bold block letters or softly scribbled script.
Someone is having a baby, someone is getting married, someone’s parent is sick, someone is celebrating a big birthday, someone is getting divorced, someone just lost a family member. I spin the card stand and my head spins. All this heartbreak, all this bliss, all this change, and it’s all happening concurrently. New lives enter kicking and screaming and other lives are whisked away like smoke dissipating after birthday-candle wishes.
I feel the panic creep in. Is it always going to be like this now? Will there be more brushstroke-heavy nature scenes and less cheery colorful animals? Will the Champagne bottles stop popping and the frothy beer images run dry? Will the concise, cringey puns turn into long, somber sentences? I have the impulse to stuff half of the cards I’m holding back in their respective slots. Nothing to see over here, happily humming Trader Joe’s employees. Luckily for greeting card designers, we all know that it’s easy to pull a card out and almost downright impossible to try and stuff it back in. Consequently, I’m left with pictures of neatly wrapped presents along with trees’ reflections in still ponds.
As much as I might try, I know that I can’t enjoy life’s ups without facing the downs. I know the future holds tears of joy and of grief. I know greeting card companies have to print the words that no one ever wants to think about or speak out loud. I wish it could always be smiling storks and cats wearing tiny birthday hats, but that’s not realistic (we all know any string hat would be torn apart in seconds anyway).
While I keep all of the cards that I’ve picked out, I decide to throw a few lighthearted extras in the cart too. It seems more important than ever to relish life’s carefree moments. Glimpses of lacy white dresses, grinning circus animals, and fistfuls of floating confetti fill the upper rack of my red shopping cart. We can’t stop life’s twists and turns, but we might as well enjoy the ride when the going is good (and when it directs you towards an open checkout line). I’ve learned from the instability of life that I’ll never get to hold all the cards, but maybe I’ll at least get to hold on to some of them. And, of course, gleefully organize them by personalized tabs when I’m back home.
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Photo by Corina Brown
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