I eat my eggs over medium now.

I grew up eating everything well done. Eggs were over hard. If there was the least bit of runniness to the yolk, it was not done enough. In college they sometimes made the scrambled eggs runny. I still don’t like runny institutional eggs, but now I like my fried eggs over medium.

I was in Key West. It was over 25 years ago. We were on a detachment to do counter-narcotics operations. Our airborne radar planes were a key asset to track drug runners trying to fly their drugs into the US. For this detachment we were positioned at Key West and our crews would fly surveillance over the Caribbean each day.

This was a quiet morning. One of the pilots and I got up and walked from the BOQ (Bachelor Officer Quarters) downtown to breakfast. We settled at a nice little place that had a street front patio. We were seated at a table in the morning sunshine. We ordered our breakfasts. My companion ordered his eggs over easy. They came out and were really runny. But he cut them up and merged the runny yolks with the hardened whites, adding salt and pepper as he did so. It looked appealing. My eggs were a little bit runny also and so I tried the same thing. I liked it.

That moment has stuck in my mind. Why is it that there are some memories or moments that replay more than others? There was nothing remarkable about it. It was not an earthshaking or key defining moment for me or my life. It was just a quiet day, sitting in the sunshine, drinking coffee and eating eggs that were a little bit runny.

What is there about this moment that makes it come back to me?

Maybe it is the simple quiet. I was not in a rush. I did not have a huge agenda for the day. I could enjoy the moment and “just be.” 

Maybe it is the idea of simply enjoying the simple things of life that are in front of you?

There is a quote I have a on little card in my office that reads, “You have to be bashed a bit by life to see the point of flowers, pretty skies, and uneventful ‘boring’ days.”

I pulled that card out as I was rounding in the hospital a couple of months ago. My mind was filled with all the worries about COVID 19 and the stresses of the immense changes that were happening at the time. It made absolute sense to me. 

I looked out the window. It was a sunny day. Some people were exercising out on the track by the hospital. I saw others walking down the street in the sunshine. I thought about how my patients in the ICU would just love the chance to be freely walking around outside, breathing the fresh air with warm sunshine on their shoulders. 

I thought of the odd anxiety that we all feel of social distancing and these crazy COVID 19 times. I took a picture of the card with the expression to somehow capture the thought for myself. I too get stir crazy at home. Why can I not always appreciate an uneventful “boring” day? Can I not be wise enough to remember the “bashings” in the past to appreciate the good of today? 

I looked and read the card again.

“You have to be bashed a bit by life to see the point of flowers, pretty skies, and uneventful ‘boring’ days.”

I resolved to walk outside to my car at the end of the day. I was going to do so slowly, savoring each step and breathing the spring air. I was going to look at the sky. I was going to be happy to just be healthy and outside and free to walk to my car.

Who knows what the future might bring? Whether illness or grief or other problems? I might soon deeply long for a “boring” day. I should savor any chance I have to just be outside walking around, breathing the air, and feeling the warm sunshine.  Or perhaps, to be sitting having a simple plate of eggs and some coffee with not much to do for the day.

My CT scan report said two lymph nodes. One had grown. The other was new. They could be nothing. When I first wrote this I was waiting to hear back from my doctors. The thoughts of what they could mean disturbed me. They could mean complexity and changes in ways that I do not want. They could have a powerful impact on my life. They are not a boring simple day. They pulled at me and created a deep ache inside that I struggled to push aside as I wrote this.

But that morning I made eggs. I made them over medium. The white was hard, but the yolks were a little bit runny as I put my fork into them. In an instant I was back and sitting on a patio at a café in Key West. I cut my eggs up so that I could mix the yolk in with the whites. I added some salt and pepper. I enjoyed them. 

For just a moment, there was a feeling of sunshine and warmth. There was a little patio at a café in Key West. I was young and the world was good. It was nothing dramatic. It was just an uneventful boring morning. But it was good. The feeling was good.

I am going to enjoy that moment. The quiet. The eggs. The lack of rushing to something else.  

And in that moment I am okay.