In a cupboard in my office is a stack of calendars I used for way too many years after digital calendars came along. Some of the rubber-banded pages fit Filofax, some DayPlanners and I know there is a similar pile in a plastic bin in the garage. Should a detective want to know my whereabouts on July 22nd, 1985 at 2 pm, I can find that calendar, flip to the day in question and have the beginnings of a perfect alibi. The calendars record milestones like the dates of IVF attempts, a multitude of back surgeries, the court appointment to finalize my daughter’s adoption. Less monumental are dental appointments, lunches with friends, work deadlines. Read individually, the calendars chronicle my whereabouts and what-abouts; seen as a whole, they are validation that no matter how circumspect our intent, our lives are non-linear.

What’s a non-linear life? It’s the ATM machine not working. It’s the power going out. It’s a down-sizing at work, the broken zipper, a fight with a friend. A non-linear life is life. No day goes exactly as planned and no life is lived as it is imagined.