Fly On The Wall

Today, I want to share a moment I experienced Sunday morning, an interesting observation for which I have no context, and therefore, neither will you.

I was drinking coffee at my local joint, reading a book and journaling. It’s part of my Sunday morning routine. Shortly after I sat down, two people arrived and sat at the next table. When they walked into the place, they were already fully involved in a spirited (and to them, hilarious) conversation that continued after they sat down.

In a previous life, this behavior may have annoyed me in a place like this (where we all tend to keep to ourselves and do our respective “things”), but they seemed to be having a grand old time together, something one doesn’t usually witness at 5:25 a.m.

They were happy and having fun … how could I get upset about that?

As I read and journaled, trying not to be a fly on the wall, I couldn’t help but pick up the subject of their discussion: they were trying to figure out the steps and order to the Five Stages of Grief. And, I might add, having great fun doing it.

Now, I have nothing else to offer to you today––why they were discussing this topic, why they chose 5:25 a.m. on Sunday, or why it was so funny to them … this topic of grief and how we travel through it. I just found it interesting.

And frankly, it wasn’t that far afield from the discussions my best friend/cousin Mike and I have been enjoying all our lives. We find some random thing, speculate on details, origins and reasons for its existence, and then we beat said topic to death with an energy only a toddler could appreciate over a period of minutes … or hours … often to the chagrin of those around us; most of whom leave our sphere shortly after we begin. (Our reputation precedes us, but we think we’re infinitely entertaining.)

And while I still think the topic (grief, for any of you who forgot over the past three paragraphs) didn’t quite jibe with the tone of the conversation, I celebrated their energy, their apparent love of being together (as friends, mates, whatever) and the sheer ability to wonder and speculate without immediately going to their devices to get the answer (which, of course, could have been retrieved on Google or some similar platform in nanoseconds).

Why do I share this story? I don’t know, it just struck me. It was a moment in time that caught my attention, one that was entertaining and made me wonder because of its lack of context and the relationship between the subject matter and the spirit with which the conversation took place.

And now, 24 hours later, I’m still curious: about them, what made them choose that topic of conversation and why it was so funny to them. Maybe they were grieving something or someone close to them, and they just had to let off a little steam about it. Maybe they were studying it for a class and making fun of the professor who constantly dwelled on the topic.

Or maybe it just popped into one or the other’s head randomly and turned into a full-blown (albeit inane) conversation, like the thousands Mike and I have had, and continue to have, as we wonder (and wander) our way through life.

That’s all. That’s all I have. No point. No context. Just a moment I experienced, thanks to two strangers who inadvertently made me a fly on their wall for a few minutes. And then, they were gone.

And now, I can’t stop thinking about it.

© 2026 David R. Haznaw