She moves in mysterious ways.
With all due respect to the musical genius that is U2, I am unfortunately not citing their lyrical rock ballad in the proper context. No, "she" is not some whimsical woman who seems to mess your life up and make it better all in one drink. Instead, the antecedent of she is in fact this crazy little thing we call life.
When reflecting back on my past 19 years and cautiously looking forward into my next 80, I can't help but wonder how I've gotten from point A to point 7, or from a little girl with crooked teeth and floppy bangs to nearly living on my own in a big old city.
No matter what stage you currently reside in, she has certainly done her number on you. She again, of course, is life. Right when you think you've secured one component of your ideal life's recipe, the next ingredient is missing from the shelf. We try so hard, but we somehow can't seem to get it right. And despite all of our efforts to achieve some misshapen form of perfection, life always has the tendency to construe it. Looking in the mirror on Tuesday you see a successful human with a good head on their shoulders, but by Sunday morning all the reflection screams is a mid-life crisis, and you're not even 30.
But the more I trudge through the ups and downs of her mysterious manner, I've learned a thing or two about my friend, life. She's what makes you and me and your cab driver's neighbor far more intriguing. Because as we all know, perfection is beyond boring.
So why do we crave it so badly? It's like a cigarette ad from the 60s; the doctors tell you its good for you, and you keep throwing quarters at those Virginia Slims, but you can't seem to shake the fact that you lose breath going up the stairs and your fingers shake when it's been a day without one.
The perception of perfection acts the same. The doctors prescribe a happy life, but none of the pills seem to do the trick, and all along you hold a gut feeling that this isn't exactly what you meant when you said you wanted to feel again.
So now that you've gone down the rabbit hole that is a 2 am slum, you've considered two sources to blame: yourself, or life's timing. In recent news, I can't seem to get enough of the latter. Which, by the way, is the easier choice.
We are constantly blaming life for screwing up our timing. Why does the phrase, "you always want what you can't have," feel more applicable than a simple, "smile, it looks good on you." You only like a guy when he's taken, and he only likes you when you've finally moved on. You only want that so-called dream career when you're far too inexperienced, and once the offer is placed on your lap tied in a silky yellow ribbon, you're having a hard time making the leap. You want an invite to the hottest party in town, but once you're a regular on the list, all the glitz and glam has suddenly lost its sparkle.
The consistent excuse amongst all of these dilemmas? Life's timing sucks.
And maybe it does. But my question to not only you, but also myself: Do you decide your timeline or does life choose when each specific event, or rather monument moment, will "happen" to you?
Are we an author or audience member to our own existence?
Does wishing at 11:11 pm, which coincidently aligns with the benchmarked time that you're getting into your deepest thoughts and feelings, actually impact your future? Or, are we instead enslaved to the idea that we simply have no control of the deck we've been handed?
If fate really is up there, dictating our each and every move; does "it" already know the exact age we will get married, move into our first house, and get that promotion? And, no matter how hard you try to manipulate this calendar, have the save-the-date cards already been signed, sealed, and delivered?
Unfortunately, I do not have this answer, and I never will. However, I am a firm believer that it should never, and will never, go one way or the other. If you live affixed to the idea that no matter what actions you take, your life's scrapbook will contain the same major events, chances are you'll never make a scrapbook at all. On the contrary, if you plan out life's agenda to the T like an overachieving intern, you'll likely be disappointed that you didn't meet your soulmate on that summer soiree in Paris.
Life is a cocktail. A shot of this, a dash of that, some effort from you, and a cherry from fate. I can promise you that if you don't channel energy into your goals, they won't fall into your lap. However, If the timing seems wrong, it probably is. So how does one determine the ideal ratio for the cocktail of life?
It's simple. When making a decision, ranging as small as should I accept this dinner date invitation to as large as should I take this house offer, ask yourself about regrets. Not in the conventional sense of will I regret this, but rather, will I regret not taking a chance on life, not taking a chance on myself?
If you can confidently answer that declining whatever lies on the table will not cause growth, excitement, some much-needed change, or some well-deserved celebration, then close the door and walk on. If not, don't be the one that doesn't make memories because fear got in the way.
So, to conclude: Yes, life will come in and ruin your hopes and dreams with its broken clock, but that time will only be wasted if you decide to waste it yourself. Chances are, life's broken clock was a little smarter than you thought, and it's conclusions are probably for the best. Instead of wasting hours blaming yourself or blaming the algorithms of fate for a setback, spend that time to try something, or someone, new.
Time will pass no matter what, my friend, and as U2 so magically puts it, it will With Or Without You. So count your minutes and your blessings, and make them both count.
Here's to writing our script, and enjoying the show,
caroline hughes
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