The Fortune Cookie

Yesterday I went for lunch with my friend Ben-- a former co-worker who has become a dear friend who I lunch with at least a few times a year.

We were seated by a massive bowl of fortune cookies at the new P.F Changs, catching up when the conversation turned to life, death and the universe. I don't even know how the topic came up, but I'm pretty sure I was the one to venture into this abyss.

"So, you don't believe in anything after death?" I asked.

"No," he replied. "I don't."

Ben, a science nerd, asserted that he didn't believe in anything more, though he hopes I'm right when I say that I do.

"I'm an atheist," he said. "You're born, you live, you die and you become nothing. That's it."

Whimsical ol' me, on the other hand couldn't fathom that.

Nothingness.

All of these thoughts, all of these memories and feelings, all of who we are fading away into nothing is too much for me to bear. This can't be the be all and end all of everything. There has to be a 'next' after we die, I just don't know what it is, and I often wonder (and clearly talk) about it.

I'll admit I am conditioned to believe in more. I grew up in a God-fearing, Christian home and attended church my whole life, until I was able to stop. In recent years I have come to believe that maybe god and heaven and the bible aren't what I thought they were. (That's a topic of another time) but even if my perception on that has changed, I still believe there is more than this. The very essence of what makes us-- Our soul, if you will -- doesn't just die. It becomes something more. It has to...

We discussed this for a little while, both respecting the others beliefs, but standing firm in our own.

"OK," I said. "Put your hand into that bowl and pull out a cookie. Not just any cookie... You put your hand in there and you dig for the perfect cookie and we'll open it up and it will give us the answer," I said.

"The answer being the meaning of the universe?" He questioned.

Yes," I said.

 "The meaning of life and the answer to the universe in a fortune cookie. OK."

We'd already opened a bunch of fortune cookies over lunch, and amused ourselves with our fortunes. Our server encouraged us to help ourselves, and we took advantage of that offer.

Ben put his hand in the massive bowl of fortune cookies, and he dug around for a second. He pulled out a cookie from the middle of the mass and he held it up.

"This is the one," he said. "The answer to the universe."

He opened the plastic wrapper. I watched, with a wave of silly curiosity.

Then he cracked the cookie, and low and behold IT WAS EMPTY.

There was no fortune. No little slip of paper. No answers to the meaning of life, death and the universe. THERE WAS NOTHING! -- We both reacted the same way, exclaiming "OH!!!!" at the same time, and laughing at the complete and utter irony of the fortuneless fortune cookie.

You couldn't have scripted such a perfect moment.

In fact, if he is right and this life is all we have, then its moments like these that make it special.

The rest of lunch was lovely. We caught up and ate some delicious food, and we never did manage to agree on the meaning of the universe or what happens after we die. It didn't matter.

Another time, and another cookie perhaps...