Coins, Cones, and the Cosmic Joke of Destiny

By Darrell Griffin, president of PureAudacity.com

Picture this: You’re strolling through a mall, dodging overzealous perfume spritzers and resisting the siren call of cinnamon-dusted pretzels, when you stumble upon a donation funnel. You know the one—a swirling vortex of plastic that looks like it moonlights as a black hole in a sci-fi flick. It’s the kind of thing you’d normally toss a quarter into, pat yourself on the back for your boundless generosity, and keep moving. But not today. Today, you stop. You stare. And with the audacity of a philosopher who’s had one too many espressos, you see the universe in that spinning, coin-charged abyss.

That’s exactly what happened to me last week. I was minding my own business, daydreaming about soft pretzels with that questionable neon cheese dip, when I spotted it: the funnel of fate. Three coins were already locked in their cosmic waltz, spiraling around a cone-shaped void like they were auditioning for Dancing with the Stars: Gravitational Pull Edition. And let me tell you, I was transfixed. Hypnotized. Ready to write a 2,000-word treatise on the meaning of life, right there in front of a Claire’s clearance rack.

What was it about those coins that stopped me in my tracks? Was it their shiny defiance of entropy? The audacity of their twirls in the face of inevitable doom? Or was it that, deep down, I saw myself in their metallic pirouettes—a little coin called Me, spinning through life, hoping to look graceful while hurtling toward who-knows-what? Spoiler alert: It was all of the above. So, buckle up, because we’re diving into the philosophical deep end of mall-based metaphysics, with a side of wit and just enough humor to keep it from getting too weird.

The Coin Chronicles: A Dance with Destiny

Let’s set the scene. The mall was buzzing—teenagers giggling over bubble tea, parents wrangling toddlers who’d clearly mainlined Pixy Stix, and me, a grown adult, staring at a donation funnel like it was the Oracle of Delphi. The three coins in question were putting on a show. One zipped along the wall like it had a 9 a.m. meeting with the center of the funnel. Another meandered lazily, as if it had all the time in the world to contemplate its existence. The third? Oh, it was a drama queen, wobbling wildly, nearly escaping the funnel’s grasp before plunging into the abyss with the flair of a soap opera star.

At first glance, it looked like chaos. Pure, unadulterated randomness. The kind of randomness that makes you spill coffee on your white shirt right before a job interview or end up eating sushi when you swore you wanted a burger. But the longer I watched, the more I realized: this wasn’t random at all. Every swoop, every wobble, every audacious loop was governed by invisible forces. Gravity. Friction. Momentum. The holy trinity of high school physics I barely passed, now staging a cosmic ballet in a mall concourse.

Those coins weren’t free agents. They weren’t out there living their best lives, choosing their paths with the reckless abandon of a toddler with a marker. The moment they were dropped into that funnel, their fate was sealed. They were all headed for the same tiny hole at the center. It wasn’t a question of if, but when. And suddenly, I had to wonder: Am I just a coin too? Are we all just shiny little discs, spinning through life with the audacity to think we’re in control, when really, the funnel’s got us all figured out?

The Illusion of Free Will (Or, Why I’m Not Mad at My Coffee Stains)

Let’s talk about free will, because nothing screams “I’m having an existential crisis” like questioning your autonomy in the middle of a mall. Life feels random sometimes, doesn’t it? You miss the bus by 30 seconds. You meet the love of your life because your washing machine decided to stage a coup. You end up at a poetry slam instead of the sports bar you planned to hit. It’s tempting to chalk it all up to chance, to the universe rolling the dice and laughing at the results.

But what if it’s not random? What if, from the top of the funnel—where some cosmic force is sipping a latte and watching us spin—it all makes perfect sense? Maybe that missed bus forced you to walk, which led to a conversation, which led to a job offer. Maybe the washing machine rebellion was the universe’s way of nudging you toward a laundromat meet-cute. Maybe the poetry slam was where you were always meant to be, even if you spent the first 10 minutes wondering why everyone was snapping instead of clapping.

The audacity of it all is that we think we’re steering the ship. We make plans, set goals, write to-do lists like we’re the CEOs of our own destinies. But the funnel doesn’t care about your five-year plan. It’s got gravity on its side, and gravity always wins. The comforting part? If nothing’s truly random, then our mistakes aren’t really mistakes. That coffee stain on your shirt? Just a stylish twirl on your spiral. That time you accidentally called your boss “Mom” in a meeting? A quirky loop-de-loop on your path to the center. It’s all part of the dance.

The terrifying part? No matter how hard we try to veer left or wobble right, we’re still headed for that hole. Destiny’s got a one-track mind, and it’s not taking suggestions.

The Three Coins of Destiny: A Personality Study

Back to the mall, where I was probably starting to look like a performance artist with a vendetta against spare change. The three coins were still spinning, oblivious to the existential meltdown they’d sparked. And because I’m a completely normal person, I started assigning them personalities. Don’t judge me—you’d do it too if you were hypnotized by a donation funnel for 10 minutes.

• Coin One: The Overachiever. This coin was all business. It hugged the wall, picked up speed, and zoomed toward the center like it had a LinkedIn profile and a standing desk. It was the kind of coin that files its taxes early and color-codes its calendar. If it had a motto, it’d be “Work hard, spiral harder.”

• Coin Two: The Free Spirit. This one was just vibing. It meandered, paused, did a lazy loop like it was on a gap year in Bali. It didn’t care about the hole at the center—it was too busy enjoying the journey. You just know this coin has a playlist called “Chill Beats for Existential Crises.”

• Coin Three: The Drama Queen. Oh, this coin was a lot. It careened wildly, nearly escaped the funnel three times, and finally plunged into the hole with all the grace of a reality TV contestant getting voted off. It was the coin equivalent of someone who posts “I’m done” on social media, then comes back an hour later with a 12-paragraph rant.

Different styles, same ending. Different spins, same center. It’s life in a nutshell, isn’t it? We all take different paths—some of us sprint, some of us stroll, some of us flail like we’re auditioning for a disaster movie—but we’re all headed somewhere. The funnel doesn’t discriminate. It’s got room for every kind of coin, from the polished quarters to the grimy pennies that smell vaguely of regret.

Mall Philosophy 101: Lessons from the Funnel

By now, I was getting some serious side-eye from mall security, who probably thought I was either casing the joint or having a spiritual awakening next to a Sbarro. But I didn’t care. I was too busy distilling the wisdom of the funnel into bite-sized nuggets of mall philosophy. Here’s what I came up with:

1. We all spin differently. Some of us are Overachievers, racing toward our goals with the focus of a laser pointer. Some of us are Free Spirits, taking the scenic route and stopping to smell the pretzels. Some of us are Drama Queens, making every moment a spectacle. And that’s okay. The funnel’s big enough for all of us.

2. The journey looks random but isn’t. Every bounce, every wobble, every frantic loop is part of a bigger plan. That time you got lost in a new city and stumbled upon the best coffee shop of your life? Not an accident. That time you cried in a Target parking lot because life felt like too much? Just a dramatic twirl on your spiral. It’s all leading somewhere, even if you can’t see it yet.

3. The audacity of choice is an illusion. We like to think we’re calling the shots, but the funnel’s got physics on its side. You can fight it, you can wobble, you can try to jump the wall, but you’re still spinning toward the center. The trick is to embrace the ride, not rage against it.

Mall Philosophy 101: Lessons from the Funnel

By now, I was getting some serious side-eye from mall security, who probably thought I was either casing the joint or having a spiritual awakening next to a Sbarro. But I didn’t care. I was too busy distilling the wisdom of the funnel into bite-sized nuggets of mall philosophy. Here’s what I came up with:

1. We all spin differently. Some of us are Overachievers, racing toward our goals with the focus of a laser pointer. Some of us are Free Spirits, taking the scenic route and stopping to smell the pretzels. Some of us are Drama Queens, making every moment a spectacle. And that’s okay. The funnel’s big enough for all of us.

2. The journey looks random but isn’t. Every bounce, every wobble, every frantic loop is part of a bigger plan. That time you got lost in a new city and stumbled upon the best coffee shop of your life? Not an accident. That time you cried in a Target parking lot because life felt like too much? Just a dramatic twirl on your spiral. It’s all leading somewhere, even if you can’t see it yet.

3. The audacity of choice is an illusion. We like to think we’re calling the shots, but the funnel’s got physics on its side. You can fight it, you can wobble, you can try to jump the wall, but you’re still spinning toward the center. The trick is to embrace the ride, not rage against it.

It’s like the universe hands us a coin slot at birth and says, “Here’s your ticket, kid. Try not to overthink it.” And yet, here I am, overthinking it in the middle of a mall, surrounded by people buying overpriced sneakers and wondering if they, too, are just coins in disguise.

Embracing the Spiral: A Call to Dance

Eventually, I tore myself away from the funnel, mostly because I was starting to attract a crowd (or at least a very confused janitor). As I walked away, I felt lighter, like I’d cracked some cosmic code. I didn’t have all the answers—nobody does. (Why do pretzel shops smell better than any Michelin-star restaurant? Why do we keep buying jeans that don’t fit? Mysteries abound.) But I had this: Life’s not just random chaos. It’s a spiral. And while we might not see the whole funnel from where we’re spinning, we’re being guided—gently, inevitably—toward something meaningful.

So, the next time life feels like it’s spinning out of control—when you miss the train, burn the toast, or end up at a book club instead of the bar you meant to hit—remember: You’re just a coin, doing your little cosmic dance. Every misstep, every detour, every moment of glorious chaos is part of the spiral. You’re not lost; you’re just twirling with extra flair.

And let’s be real: A little flair never hurt anybody. The Drama Queen coin didn’t just fall into the hole—it sashayed. The Free Spirit didn’t just spin—it sauntered. Even the Overachiever had a certain panache, like it was speed-running destiny with a power suit and a protein shake. So why not lean into it? Spin with style. Wobble with confidence. Fall into the hole with the audacity of someone who knows they’re exactly where they’re meant to be.

Conclusion: The Cosmic Coin Toss

If you find yourself at a mall, staring too long at a donation funnel, don’t be embarrassed. You’re not losing it. You’re glimpsing the whole, beautiful, hilarious truth of existence. We’re all just coins—shiny, scratched, a little worn around the edges—spinning through the funnel of life. We’re twirling, tumbling, sometimes crashing into the walls, but always, always moving toward the center.

So toss in your change, make a wish, and enjoy the ride. The funnel’s got you, whether you like it or not. And who knows? Maybe the hole at the center isn’t an end at all. Maybe it’s just the start of a new spiral, a new dance, a new chance to spin with a little more grace (or at least a little less panic).

In the meantime, keep spinning. Keep twirling. Keep wobbling with the audacity of a coin that knows it’s part of something bigger. Because if life’s a cosmic joke, at least it’s one with a killer soundtrack and some seriously impressive choreography. Is this all part of God's grand design? Maybe.