The danger of skydiving is that you have to come back down to the ground. I’m not talking about hitting the ground at terminal velocity. I’m talking about how skydiving is the most exciting thing you will ever do in your life, and then you have to get in your car and drive home for 45 minutes in traffic, eat, sleep, and go to work on Monday when all you can think about is how much better you felt while you were falling.
A lady in a wheelchair asked me “are you using this chair?” A part of me wanted to say, “don’t you already have a seat?” But the bigger part of me just stammered and shook my head; more so in confusion than in reply. She towed the wooden chair across the tile floor of the coffee shop, turning heads and whatnot, and then plopped it in front of a cushy armchair in the corner. She neither sat in the wooden chair, nor the cushy armchair. She was waiting for a friend, which cleared up my confusion about someone chair-bound asking for a chair, but when her friend came, she sat in the cushy armchair and the wooden chair just stood there, staring at them. After a few minutes the woman in the cushy armchair set her purse down on the wooden chair. I was still confused as to why the chair had been brought over, but at least it had a purpose, so I got back to work.