The electronic MegaMillions sign outside of Russell's on Fremont Street said, "355." That's 355 million dollars available to that lucky someone with the winning numerical combination on the winning lottery ticket. Though I usually never think to buy into such unfortunate odds, a sum like that is hard to pass up without at least a passing thought.
I saw that number as I was meandering about looking for lunch, and from the moment I did until I got up to the counter at Togo's to order my sandwich, I thought of all the things I would do with that money. Trips, things, gifts, all possible with $355 million. Even happiness, I thought, ever so briefly. What couldn't that amount of money buy? It can be everything to everyone.
I thought the same thing about the loft Sam and I live in now. He and I played our roles in what felt like an epic saga of a short sale last year, full of bank approvals, overdue payments, and a last minute, financial “hail Mary” from the seller’s family. Throughout, I took solace in imagining how my life and Sam's would change when it all worked out in the end, how it would be the beginning of something, the beginning of happiness.
See, in those seven months of waiting for the close of escrow, the loft became something much more than a place to live. It became symbolic of what I have always wanted in my life, of the very nature of my life's desires. It became my goal, my passion, my lover, my friend, every answer to every question I had ever asked, all embodied within these four walls. It was perfection, and I spent those seven months perfecting a vision of this perfection.
Then we moved in. And it was wonderful.
Then my bike got stolen from the secured garage. Then Sam felt that the temperature inside was always too warm for his comfort. Then we realized that we could hear our upstairs neighbor's footsteps vibrating through our ceiling. Then the toilet started clogging if you blinked wrong when flushing it.
So shortly thereafter, I became depressed. I couldn't figure out how something I had wanted so much could let me down so spectacularly. Where was the new life? Where was my happiness? And if I was not made happy by this very thing that I expected to bring me such happiness, what does it mean to be happy, then? What will it take?
Since then, I have made my peace with everything, more or less. I am still frustrated with certain issues of home, and I have my days. But I have shifted from wanting perfection to understanding reality. This loft was never meant to satisfy my every desire, nor should it. And the hiccups and idiosyncrasies of the place are merely that, not the devastation of my world. So I now focus on what a milestone it was to purchase a home with my partner. I am proud of the work that Sam put in to making the loft our own. And I look forward to the day when we sell our first home together and move on to something else. I'll know better then to set my expectations accordingly.
I read somewhere once that true maturity in anything, whether that be life or love (or loft-living) can only be achieved after disappointment. I think I am understanding what this means, and how to appreciate the value of disappointment.
All of the above to say that I know $355 million (million!) can not bring me happiness, and it won't be everything to me. I have a more mature view on happiness nowadays, and I am thankful for that. With that said, though, I also know that if I were to win that amount of money, I will be mentally healthy about it and apply the lessons I have learned last year to my newfound wealth.
So I deserve to win this now, right? I mean, this is prime enlightenment, deep revelations and the like; surely it deserves some reward. I thought so, so I went back to Russell's later this afternoon and bought myself a ticket.
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