Normal Isn't a Thing

Sarah Thompson woke up on Thursday morning, just like any other day, her mind bent on the day's itinerary that lay snugly in her planner next to the coffee machine. It was 7:00 AM, a time marked by the smell of freshly brewed coffee, the sound of the shower warming up, and frankly, a comforting sense of monotony. Thursday meant submitting the quarterly report, a grocery run, and picking up her cheerfully chaotic six-year-old, Jake, from art class. Outside, suburban Brookfield was waking up slowly, with its dew-kissed roofs and lazy dog walkers, soon to be flooded by the symphony of traffic and school bus chugs. Sarah, tossed in the same currents of routine, often let time slip through the small cracks of predictability. But today felt different. While fumbling with her favorite coffee mug—a gift from Jake, who had adorned it with kindergarten paint-smears—she miscalculated, something she hardly ever did. The mug tipped, spilling coffee all over her meticulous planner, turning pristine pages into a soggy canvas of brown ink. "Oh, come on," she muttered, flustered, watching her day literally leak away. But instead of grappling with rigid replacement plans, Sarah paused, unraveled from her compulsive need for order. Forgoing the set path, she decided to ad-lib her day. At work, she stumbled upon an unfamiliar face coiling up the copier cables with clumsy charm. His name was Marcus, a technical support hire freshly moved from Raleigh. As Sarah helped untangle the wires, they shared a simple laugh. Unusual and unplanned, but it soothed and sparked a day unspooling into color. While walking back to her cubicle, she was stopped by Diane, long-time office-mate turned companionable acquaintance, who handed Sarah a bundle of mismatched flowers. "Hey, you could use this," Diane said. "Usually, we're running by ten. But you seem…free." They strolled to the nearby deli for lunch, where Sarah found herself comfortably sharing stories and inquiring about life outside work, rekindling friendship. They laughed over bad poetry Sarah wrote in college, her secret punk phase, and Diane's long-endured cats. As she picked Jake up later, she swung by the old cafe she used to frequent during art college. Intrigued by curiosity, Sarah decided to step in, only to be greeted by the sight of one David Bennett, her college art professor who had, it seemed, finally learned how to make a decent espresso. "Sarah Thompson!" he exclaimed with genuine surprise and a grand smile. At that moment, the needling worries of restructuring the report, now somewhere in the depths of printer hell, felt worlds away. "Well, this is a shock," David said with a theatrical flourish while whisking milk. "I've stopped assuming an espresso catastrophe would bring brilliant art students back, but here you are, just ruined planner in hand." They shared fleeting recollections of the vivacious studio days long replaced by office chairs. Talking with David reminded her of uncomplicated joys and eventually fueled nostalgia into liberation. Just before leaving, Sarah made up her mind. By the end of the day, Friday rolled in, placing itself neatly over the ruins of Sarah’s planner. But Sarah was no longer rushed. A spontaneous overnight decision had her calling off the report for leisure painting instead, taking Jake along for art classes. Life felt anew, not from planning yet another meticulous list but from peeking into the unknown, and for the first time since Jake was born, Sarah embraced the unexpected not as an inconvenience but as a gift, glimmering with possibility.