Peanuts In My Pocket

I visit my local Walgreens a few times a month to pick up prescriptions. Each time, I return with a story about the oddness that seems to surround the place. But today was different. Today was lovely.

I watched as guides taught individuals with Down syndrome how to restock shelves. It was beautiful to see the intense focus of a young man as he carefully placed a single pack of Ensure on display. Each movement was deliberate—every package aligned with precision, turning a routine task into artistry. I don’t think I’ve ever cared that much about anything. The guides, who appeared to be on the spectrum themselves, treated their trainees with patience and kindness. It was like watching a dance.

My life is rich and filled with beautiful moments, yet my Walgreens has always felt like an ugly place—a harsh slice of life I endure out of necessity. I usually approach each visit as a mountain to climb, a chore dictated by my medical needs. But today, that perspective was washed away by pure beauty and love. I left singing to myself, a big, goofy smile on my face. I rushed home to tell my wife and to write this—to share with you, dear reader, that there is beauty in the smallest moments if you are open to seeing it.