By Jennifer De Azevedo 

I had a solid 10-hour drive ahead of me and was only three hours in. The morning had been pleasant, but now I was becoming increasingly aware of two things: my bladder was getting very full, and I was starting to feel a little sleepy. I figured I’d push through just a little longer before stopping. To help stay awake, I reached over and grabbed a bottle of soda that had been sitting on the passenger seat.

The moment I twisted the cap, it exploded.

Half the contents fizzed straight into my lap, soaking my cute and comfy travel clothes and splashing all over the steering wheel.

“Awesome,” I thought. “What the heck could I have been thinking to create this?”

I reached for the box of Kleenex I always keep in my car and attempted to mop up the mess. It looked like a toddler had thrown a root beer tantrum in my front seat. My sweater dress—one of my favorites—was now a sticky, brown-stained mess.

Having just spent three days at a seminar all about the power of thought, I figured this was a good time to practice what I’d learned. “Alright, Jen,” I told myself, “Let’s apply the Law of Relativity here. It’s not good or bad... it just is. It’s just a shirt. I still have a beautiful adventure ahead of me.”

I tossed the wad of soggy tissues onto the passenger floor and cranked up the music.

A few miles later, I saw a sign for a small town called Munds Park. (And yes—it looks exactly how it sounds.) There was a gas station just off the exit. It didn’t seem like the safest place for a solo traveler to stop, but my bladder was bursting at this point so I pulled in.

As I got out to pump gas, a very disheveled man approached me—and that’s being generous. He asked if I could buy him some gas. At that point, I was traveling on a very tight budget. I was rationing my money just to make it home, so I politely told him I couldn’t help.

He looked frustrated and stepped closer like he might argue. Then he paused... looked me up and down... and seemed to take in the dark brown stain on my dress. After a long moment, he said, “Alright,” and walked away.

I pumped gas and dashed into the restroom as fast as I could, heart racing a little. Once I was back in the car with the doors locked, I said a prayer of thanks for the soda that had exploded in my lap—because for all I know, that unfortunate wardrobe mishap may have helped me avoid an even more unfortunate situation.

“It’s not good or bad... it just is.”

We assign meaning to events all the time—often without even realizing it. In America, for example, getting pooped on by a bird is considered gross. In other parts of the world, it’s seen as a sign of good luck. See what I mean?

Maybe the same could be true for an exploding Coke. Maybe it was gross. Maybe it was embarrassing. Or maybe… it was lucky.

Just some food for thought.

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