AUGUST 13, 2026 – You never know when an epiphanic moment is going to hit you. It could be while you’re out for a walk or on your drive to meet another couple for dinner. Or on the way home from the dinner, as you mull over a particularly compelling part of the conversation, especially over the crème brûlée you knew you shouldn’t order but did, offering to share it to lessen the guilt.
I remember once standing in line at a crowded neighborhood grocery store near my sister and brother-in-law’s apartment in the Upper West Side. I was with my wife, my sister and my niece on a mission to buy ingredients for homemade pizza. My assignment had been to fetch two jars of a high-end brand of tomato sauce. This was no mean feat. The store was packed to the gills—floor to ceiling with every food item you could think of, and no this wasn’t even Zabar’s. I made myself even skinnier than I usually am, but it was still a tight squeeze up one aisle and down another in search of coveted pizza sauce. Eventually I found it, made an executive decision about which “high-end” variety was the correct one, grabbed two jars and squeezed through the gauntlet of humanity to the front of the store. Miraculously, the rest of my party and I converged simultaneously at the same check-out counter.
As I held a bit above waist level, one jar in each hand, I considered the contrast in perspective between (a) an earthbound view of the two jars of pizza sauce, and (b) a cosmic glance of the same sauce. I mean, on earth—especially New York City—what could be more familiar to us earthlings of the 21st century than pizza sauce? Yet, throughout the universe, where helium and hydrogen are in infinite abundance and the supply of all the other elements are as good as infinite, where besides on earth would a person find pizza sauce? In glass jars. With fancy labels. Of course: nowhere else.
In the moment there in that grocery store I realized just how unusual—make that unique—our planet is. For me, anyway, recognition of the obvious was a sort of epiphany about the miracle we take so for granted: our home, planet earth.
Yesterday, I experienced another epiphany. It occurred while I was waiting for my dental cleaning appointment with Michelle, a tour de force among the hygienists at Boger Dental. Knowing that I’d soon be lounging in a dental chair for 45 minutes watching the ceiling mounted version of the HGTV channel while Michelle did her amazing work, I decided to maintain a standing position in the waiting room. So that the receptionist wouldn’t think I was any weirder than I am, I faced the wall of plate glass, which afforded me a view of the shopping mall parking lot.
As I watched people and vehicles in the lot come and go, I wondered how they’d vote in November—the radio discussion (on the drive to the appointment) of Tuesday’s primary results, still very much on my mind. I wanted to rush out and poll people, talk with them, understand their reasons and motivations.
I then thought about the bigger picture—the country at large and how and why we’ve managed to run the body politic right off the road and into the ditch. To the fore came thoughts prompted by recent books and articles I’ve read about our history and its influence on today’s political culture. Then, the recent insight of my good friend Dr. Ravi came to mind regarding “American exceptionalism”—that what’s most exceptional about America is our latitude and longitude, plain and simple . . .
That’s the moment when the epiphany struck.
“Eric?” I recognized Michelle’s voice behind me. It was time for my appointment. (Cont.)
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© 2026 by Eric Nilsson
