A Little Piece of Bubble Wrap

However many years a man may live, let him enjoy them all. But let him remember the days of darkness, for they will be many. Everything to come is meaningless.
Ecclesiastes 11:8

I ran into the bus, hands in my pockets as I huddled against the cold October wind and I quickly settled into a seat for the ride home. As I rested my head against the window and closed my eyes I heard a popping sound. I looked up to see a middle-aged lady, with a piece of bubble wrap in her hand. She had a smug smile and a twinkle in her eye as she gayly burst the little bubbles one after the other. “Pop, pop, pop...” they went, keeping time to the seconds as they passed and it was easy to see that she was enjoying her little diversion immensely. Good for her, I thought, as I mentally recounted the pleasure I myself have derived countless times over from flattening out yards of bubble wrap.

As the bus trudged along I got caught up in a reverie as I listened absently to the creaking of the old bus and thought about that strange electronic female voice that follows us around, calling out the bus stops. I closed my eyes again as my mind momentarily recalled the movie Eagle Eye and from there, like it so often does, wandered to a hundred-and-one other minute and insignificant thoughts until something caught my attention, bringing me back to reality. It had stopped. I strained my ears to listen but I could not hear it. The popping had stopped. Whatever had happened to bubble-wrap lady?

As I opened my eyes tentatively I saw the woman, turning over the sheet of plastic and running her finger, ever so carefully over the rows of little bubbles, looking for one more elusive air cushion. Unfortunately for her there was none to be found; all the bubbles were gone. She rolled it up into a ball, folded her arms, heaved a sigh and stared forlornly out of the window. The whole gesture suggested one thing: “Now what?” She had exhausted her daily allocation of bubble-bursting pleasure and there was left for her only a flat and wasted piece of plastic and the silence.

My mind wandered again as I thought about how our lives are like that piece of bubble wrap. We squeeze out pleasure every way we know how and as often as we can in an attempt to feel fulfilled and to give ourselves a sense of worth. But with everything that we do there is ultimately a “now what?” moment where we realize that it’s all done and dusted. When we reach that climax do we have a sense of satisfaction and fulfillment or a sense that all the pleasure’s done with and there’s nothing to show for it. And so I determine that I will savor every moment that I can on this earth with a view to the ultimate “now what” when all we’ve done will be shown for what it’s worth. And perhaps when I’m done with my little bit of bubble wrap the bus would have arrived at my destination. Home.

With love, Doosuur.