Looking for a sign
I’ve been doing that thing again. Believing there’s only one right path. And looking for a sign from the Universe to put me on it.
But chasing certainty is the ultimate fool’s errand. Because there can be no such thing. And the only way to live in peace is to let go of our need to be sure.
I know that. And so do you.
And yet, we look for guidance. We want to feel or believe—maybe even know—that we’re moving in the right direction.
When we’re paying attention—when we’re connected with our hearts and with the world around us—we start noticing signs and signals everywhere. Then we attach meaning. We gain comfort and move forward. We can trust.
For me, it’s been working like this:
Soon after I packed away my easel, a watercolor I thought I’d never see again came back into my life. I grabbed my brushes and paints.
A guy I liked on a dating site but forgot about, showed up elsewhere through an algorithmic fluke. I made a date to meet him.
And Greta—the name I finally chose for a possible new pup—appeared faintly inscribed on the back of a camper van at the beach. I knew I would get the dog. Then the breeder sent a photo showing a perfect, fortuitous heart shape in the space between her paws.
Do we shrug off such signals as coincidence or mystery? Or believe some higher power is at work? That’s up to us to decide.
But, one thing is for sure: Even when we notice the cues, the real work still lies ahead.
Face the fear. When we’re hesitant or stuck, there’s likely a fear-based reason. Even if the dog lives a long and happy life, she’ll die and leave me. I might be 75 by then, and even more alone than I am today. If I fall for the guy, I have to worry about him not being perfect—and me not being perfect. Or he’ll get sick, or change his mind. Or I will. I’m afraid to wet the brush because I think my paintings will be no good. We can only disarm our fears once we name them.
See the humor. Greta will destroy shoes, track mud in the house, and defecate in all the wrong places. Hopefully, she’ll be so stinking cute, I’ll find her destructive ways funny. It’s harder to laugh at the foibles in ourselves and other humans—but we must. The good news is: If I’m solo, I’ll have Greta to cheer me up. And maybe, with all the time I have on my hands, I can paint her picture.
Pay even closer attention. As I wrote in this post, I’ve been married to two men with not only the same first name, but also the same birth day, birth month, and birth year. Within days of meeting the second one in a sushi bar in Manhattan, I decided he was the Steve I was meant to spend my life with. Had I lived more in the present—rather than in the past or the future—I might have drawn the opposite conclusion. I might have said, no thanks. I’ve already been there. I’ve already done that.
It’s taken me a while to piece this together. But maybe I’m finally learning.
On the continuum of risk and reward, there’s a huge difference between deciding to pick up a paintbrush, and choosing a husband. Somewhere in the middle is trying out a new boyfriend or getting a dog.
As we search for certainty, a sign can only get our attention.
It can’t tell us what to do.
