The question was do I want red or green grapes? It had been a long day, and the decision was more than I could handle. So I’m staring at them – the grapes – like somewhere in there is the answer to all the world’s problems. I know it’s in there somewhere.

A tall, thoughtful gentleman approaches the grapes with equal curiosity. “Huh.” He says, “Only 99 cents a pound.” Not the answer I was looking for, but I’m glad to hear it just the same.

I grab my grapes, feeling guilty for not chatting with the bearer of the good news of the grape sale. I’m also talking on the phone with my hubby, mentally ticking off the Stuff-I-Still-Have-to-Do list, talking myself out of cookies, and looking for the toothpaste isle all at the same time. People keep smiling at me, and I don’t know why. It’s unnerving.

Finally at the self-checkout, I set the grapes on the scanner and the happiest teenager I ever met bounces over to help me find the grapes on the touchscreen. It was a nice thing to do, but I couldn’t figure out why she was trying to help me. Then I realize why: I’m self-checkedout.

Maybe the folks at the Port Clinton Kroger felt sorry for me. Maybe they were afraid I’d get lost in there and they were subliminally trying to help me out the door so they could close (do they close?), maybe they are just friendly people also finding themselves at Kroger in the middle of the night. After a decent night’s sleep I am beginning to doubt it was an episode of Black Mirror. Hopefully.  I still don’t know for sure.

I do know I was barely present, and when we’re barely present, we miss people. We miss relationships, however brief they may be. We miss our commonality, even if it’s only a good price on grapes. We miss the holy potential of shared space. There is something truly powerful about the commitment to be wholly present in the moment, no matter how insignificant we think that moment might be. Wholly presence makes for holy space.

Huh. Maybe there was an answer in those grapes after all.