How to win the lottery every time

I’m driving around looking for the cheapest gas in my neighborhood. Normally I would go to an old favorite but it’s Sunday morning and I don’t have anywhere else I need to be. I settle on $2.64/gallon at a BP one mile from my house. I begin filling up my tank I wonder if my credit card company will notify me for a fraud alert. It’s been 3 months since I’ve needed gas with the stay-at-home order in place. Before I leave, I see the digital lotto sign in the window. $53 million for Mega Millions. 2 million for Lotto. $50 million for Powerball. I instantly feel the regret of a hypothetical future where the winning tickets originate from this gas station and I wonder if it could have been me. I decide that this sign is a sign. I put on my mask and walk inside to inquire about the price of the tickets. I do a lap around the store. I enjoy the normalcy of being in a store and seeing the bright packaging, the full shelves of tiny possibilities of happiness in each sugar infused delight. I briefly consider the Donettes, but know that even in a pandemic, these are a bad idea. I proceed to the cashier, who is safely standing in a plastic enclosure, one that was in place even before COVID-19. It’s likely bullet proof. I ask him for the price of the 3 tickets. $6. Cash. I only have a credit card on me so I walk back to my car to find the “emergency” money in my console. Lottery tickets are apparently one of the few purchases you still need to buy in cash. And because I saw the sign, this clearly marks an emergency.

I drive back home and do what I have always done on the rare occasions that my partner and I have bought lottery tickets. I think about what I would do if I won. As I pass a familiar home on a corner lot, one I have wondered about for a while, I think, if I won, I could buy it. I could buy it, even if it’s not for sale. I remind myself to think bigger than buying a home a few streets aways from mine. I could move back to my old neighborhood. Nope…bigger. I could move to Colorado. Or even bigger. I could buy a ranch in Colorado. I could abandon all the things- my job, my stuff. I could go live or be anywhere. I could live without sacrifice. Because every day there is sacrifice. I cut a little piece of happiness for myself and ration the rest for the future. But without money to worry about, I could eat the whole happiness cake and just buy a new one anytime I wanted.

It’s not likely that I will win the lottery. But I can argue, as I do today, that I’m as likely a winner as anyone else. I realize that every time I buy a lottery ticket, it’s an opportunity to check in with my dreams and see if I’m on the right path. What would I stop doing if I could? What would I do more of if I could? What would I be? Who would I be? Where would I be?

I get home and I walk into my art studio. I would take it all with me. I wouldn’t leave it behind. I see all the items that are dear to me- a collection of papers, watercolor markers, a jar of rubber band balls my sister made, a disco ball. I’ve made this room my special place. I could move it all to this hypothetical ranch in Colorado, but what would I do differently?

I realize I’ve been focusing on the constraints in my life instead of the possibilities. I have been feeling the weight of a job that doesn’t fulfill me. I have become less attached to the city, having been shut out of it for the past few months. I have been more focused on an inward journey. I have grown to love my partner and our dog in a whole new way, the way you might feel if you were trapped with them on another planet, as we have been since the end of March.

I would love to win the lottery. I replay this possible outcome in my head every time I hand my partner the tickets for safe keeping. We will look up the winning numbers. We will slowly match each one to our ticket. We will pause in disbelief. We will read them again and again. We will wonder if it’s real. We will check another site. We will examine our tickets again.  Nuggets of excitement, breaded in disbelief. Where do we call? How do we do this? We find instructions and call to claim our prize. We verify the place where we bought the tickets, though it’s obvious from the ticket sale. I feel happy knowing the man behind the plastic will somehow benefit, or at least the owner of the gas station will. I am paralyzed not knowing what to do first. Pay off the mortgage? Make a budget spreadsheet? Pay off my sisters’ mortgages and my partners’ parents mortgage? And then what is left? Enough for the ranch? Do I quit my job or put in 2 weeks? Do I look for work in Colorado? Do I need to work? Will I ever clean my own toilets again? Do I mind that much cleaning the toilets?

I’m grateful in the moment that the lottery is still in the future. I can bathe in the possibility of winning. I can explore my wish list and see what comes to the surface. I can consider the changes I could make without even having to win the lottery. And I can see what I wouldn’t change at all.