Today my car started freaking out on me. When I finally got home I comforted myself with the reassurance that getting called back for an audition was something I accomplished, while my car trouble was merely something that had happened to me.
Once I wouldn't have thought that. My accomplishments seemed to arise out of the same bubbling Pool of Fate from which car troubles surfaced; or, car trouble seemed to issue from me as surely as my accomplishments did.
Perhaps this fatalistic view is more accurate; we are merely subroutines in the program of life. But it's unhelpful, so I'll stick with my newfound distinction between what I do and what happens.
* * *
There's a bunch of garden stuff I was supposed to gather up and put in the shed a few days ago. Tomato cages, rabbit fencing, bird netting. It started raining, though, so I just dumped it on the grass and went inside.
Today I went out and found the whole tangled mess had been stacked by the fence in a tidy fashion. Laurie's outta town, so she didn't do it. So who did? Brownies? The cat? Maybe whoever slashed Laurie's tires wanted to makeup for it with a small anonymous kindness.