Musings on Fate and Destiny
as Prompted by an Ill-Advised Midnight Trip to New York City

Destiny is a strange crux and, sometimes, it is difficult to distinguish serendipity from dumb luck. Let’s say McDonald’s bestows upon you two Big Macs, simply because the German curling team took both the silver and gold medals in the Winter Olympics: is it your fate to consume both of these sandwiches? Has some greater power bestowed you with these Special Sauce ^TM-ridden patties in a show of ethereal beneficence, the refusal of which would be offensive…or even mortiferous? One solution involves consuming a sole Big Mac, thus remaining blessed/grateful, but not foolish/sick; yet, is this decision—willful denial of half your prize— interfering with your kismet? Where does a show of prudence become a direct denial of destiny?

This philosophical wrangle was not, in fact, born at a fast food restaurant. Rather, it was conceived (like at least one child, I have reason to believe), in the back of a slatternly Chinatown-to-Chinatown mini-bus to New York City at 3 a.m. on a Sunday morning. It was at this inopportune hour, halfway into the journey, that my impulsive exodus from Boston lifted its scraggly legs out of the "Good Idea" marble hot tub, shook them off, and nonchalantly slipped into my "Worst Ideas Ever" plastic wading pool.

Just three hours earlier, the trip had not only seemed like a good idea, but an undeniable course of action. I was enjoying the evening with my long-estranged friend, Alicia, openly discussing our former relationship, specifically how it unceremoniously deteriorated into passive enmity. Essentially, it was a typical drama of the 18-24 demographic: seemingly unique yet wholly familiar. One of our more interesting revelations, however, was a mutual spite at the other’s lack of spontaneity, a fault to which we both pleaded guilty (it’s easier to apologize when you are both making the same apology). Long story short, everything from this point on suggested that we hop on a bus and go to New York City¹.

Though I would like to list the specific impetuses that led to our impromptu furlough, the exact details have proven to be shockingly ephemeral.

This is one of the other strange twists of letting fate be a guide: although blatant, seemingly logical, catalysts may shamelessly cavort with your judgment, crowding the "Pros" column of your decision-making process, they always vanish or fade once the action has actually taken place. That is, one may "follow her heart" in placing a large sum on their date of birth at the roulette table, genuinely convinced that her action is nothing but rational yet, upon the advent of Single O, will fail miserably in resurrecting the rationale that had been so blatant five seconds prior. It is for this reason that I am unable to list the reasons we made the journey, only capable of professing that they were wholly undeniable ²

For a couple of hours, at least. So, at approximately 3:30 a.m., I confessed to Alicia my apprehension about our decision and suggested that, upon arrival in New York City, we catch the first bus back to Boston. My arguments were as follows:

1. We had given Destiny a chance to be our guide, but she had turned out to be a lackluster bellwether.

2. We had proven ourselves wholly capable of spontaneity and would, in fact, be even more spontaneous if we caught the first bus back to Boston.

3. Maybe, just maybe, the series of events that led us to the economy bus station which was run out of a bakery, a technically negligible fact that seems to necessitate mention nonetheless had more to do with dumb luck than The Shepherding Hand of Divinity.

4. Screw fate. Screw destiny. We’re going to get to New York at 4:30 a.m. and be really, really delirious.

I think the last argument is the one that got her.

During our hour in New York we split a piece of apple pie. It wasn’t that great, probably from a box. We tried to form coherent sentences, but had little success. We talked about how our decision to hop on the 12:30 a.m. bus to New York had been asinine, inexplicable, and, when it all came down, completely the right thing to do. Then she fell asleep on the table and spilled hot chocolate onto my lap.

I learned a lot about fate that evening, and suspect that I will continue to do so as the years go by. Nonetheless, there is one thing I suspect I will never understand about destiny, and that is its sick sense of humor.

1. Everything except a lack of money, no place to stay in New York City, no phone numbers of anyone who might ameliorate said conundrum, me currently staying in Boston with my girlfriend and her having no idea where I am, Alicia having a midterm at 9 a.m. the following morning, and just about everything else.

2. Or, we just might have been really drunk. But that would seriously compromise the thesis of this essay, no?