Last weekend we met our daughter and son-in-law for breakfast at a nice restaurant on Como Avenue.
It's a pleasant neighborhood, near the St. Paul campus of the University of Minnesota and the State Fairgrounds. Lots of big trees line the streets and there’s an eclectic assortment of houses. There was an art fair going on and we sat outside, enjoying one of the seven days in Minnesota when outdoor breakfasts seem reasonable.
We'd driven four hours to reach this place, but it wouldn't have taken too much of a switch of fate for it to be walking distance from our home.
Before we were married, my wife worked at the University of Minnesota Veterinary School, back when professors needed someone to process their letters and client notes for them. Before I ran out of money and motivation, I'd attended Hamline University, a couple miles south. We'd often driven down Como Avenue, admiring the neighborhood. I can easily picture a world where I'd be wrapping up a career as a Junior High History teacher and my wife would be retiring from her job as an office manager.
And, my guess is, we would have been happy.
Of course, what if while I was in high school some teacher had told me I could be a writer? I might have gone to college, gotten a degree in Creative Writing, then headed to the Iowa Writer's Workshop for my MFA. Right now, I could be a bitter adjunct professor without tenure, writing mediocre novels about mistreated adjunct professors and my wife would have left me years ago for someone who'd retained their hair and optimism.
I know a lot of people who believe in fate, that we all follow paths to our future. I don't agree at all. I think things happen to us, and how we respond nudges us one way or another. I grew up in a house full of books with two smart parents, I was always bored in school, and not particularly well suited to having a boss. Taking those conditions and personality traits and predicting where I would end up today would be a reach for anyone.
I've been thinking about that today because last week I went to the funeral of the first person who seemed to agree with me that I might be a writer. Coincidentally, working as an usher at the funeral was the retired banker who'd agreed to sponsor my column, possibly because I owed the bank so much money he was willing to do anything to contribute to some black ink in my ledger. After the funeral I came home to my wife, the one person who despite all evidence to the contrary seemed to relentlessly believe that I would make things work out.
I don't think there is any such thing as fate in our lives. I think what we have instead are people, and how those people affect us for good or ill is what determines our fate, and me...I've been lucky.
Anyway, that's what I think.
Copyright 2025 Brent Olson