Eric and I fundamentally disagree on one thing: I think that there is some order or intention in the way the world works and in how things happen, am always trying to figure out what things mean, and he thinks that if it is anything, it’s just nature doing what it does, and therefore random, chaos, nothing more than organic logic. His view is most likely more healthy, more sane, even more practical. And yet, even when things seem random, I can’t help myself, I look close, try to see if there are patterns or some hidden magic, and in everything that comes to me, everything I experience or encounter, I look for a message from the Universe.
I think that the world is trying to communicate with me. I am always trying to uncover the secret, see the sign, figure out the thing I’m supposed to learn or discover. Even though I am reluctant to label it as a belief in fate or destiny or even God, I find it hard to accept that things are happening according to nothing more than chance, that there’s no meaning.
This summer, in Andrea Scher’s Dream Lab ecourse, one of our tasks was to write ourselves a love letter, mail it to Andrea, and at some point in the future, she’d mail it back to us. I wrote mine as it it was directly from the Universe, sealed it in a self-addressed stamped envelope, mailed it, and promptly forgot about it. Yesterday, it was delivered…sort of.
Based on the postmark information, there were at least three attempts to deliver it. The handwritten “Del to:” and various arrows pointing to my name and address make me think that one of those times, it was misdelivered to the wrong location. At some point along its journey back to me, the envelope came unglued and open, and the letter was lost. What I got on my end was an empty envelope, stamped in red with “received without contents” and “received unsealed.” I laughed when I saw it. It seems so right that I, Lucille Ball Jr., would get a letter from the Universe that was completely empty.
There was something oddly poetic about it. Especially because right underneath it in my mailbox was a letter from J, full of doodles and love. The real message? “That stuff you wrote was nice, and true, but it’s all stuff you already know. I want you instead to hear what J has to say to you, that’s what I really need you to know.” And her message was (I’m paraphrasing here) that who I am, who I really am, is my superpower.
What I know from having written J a loopy love letter and then getting one in response, what I know from writing this blog and sharing with my kind and gentle readers, what I know from communing with the tribe of women I belong to, what I know from being more present and awake in my life and trusting myself, my innate wisdom and kindness, being vulnerable and courageous, is that by being who I am, writing the way I do, showing up with an open heart, being honest and genuine, other people feel less alone. And the added bonus is that I feel less alone. For so long, I tried to change, to deny or hide or reject the parts of me that seemed “wrong,” but it turns out that all that stuff I thought was weird or broken or crazy is exactly what the world needs from me. It’s the thing I have to offer, the way I am able to ease suffering in the world. Who knew?