The Universe is not a specific granter of wishes.
I have a hard time living in the here and now. I figure, in my mind, that there is always a natural progression of events that leads you from your starting point to a very fixed endpoint and we should put our effort toward hitting all the checkpoints along the way.
Ask me how well that’s worked for me.
I also have an uncanny knack for fixating on things. I will hone in on something I want and try every avenue to make what I want a reality. Sounds like ambition but most times this involves a square peg and a round hole. The means to the end becomes a painful process of shoving and shoving until either the peg or the hole splitters.
I have a good life but hum along at a generally moderate level of happiness. It could be better. It could be worse. I want the better.
This year, I decided to completely change my thinking. It’s the most uncomfortable shift my Type A brain has made.
I decided I would do nothing more than focus on the end result. The means to the ends be damned. Caution, meet wind.
I sat down with a piece of paper at the beginning of the year and made a list of six things I told myself would happen this year. They’re not goals. Goals imply we try out best and however we do, we do. They are also active. I don’t want to be active anymore. I’m tired.
I set passive statements about what will happen in my life. Doing this calmed my sense of having to do something all the time. Work toward something. Analyze. Strategize. Scrutinize.
I positioned myself to be wide open to the Universe bringing me what I want. Where there is a will there is a way. Far be it from me to decide what the way is. I have delegated that to the Universe.
What I quickly realized is that the universe is not doling out presents to us like it’s Christmas. Just because we want something, sometimes so badly it hurts, it doesn’t mean we’re meant to have it.
I had my eye on a piece of land for a year and a half. It’s small but right where I wanted it to be. I thought I tried every single conventional way of figuring out how to get the $5,000 for the down payment, but honestly, I didn’t. I fiddled around with the idea.
Then I told myself I would own a piece of land this year. As it would turn out, the minute I secured the funds to be able to buy this dream of mine, it sold. My dream vaporized into nothing.
I looked back at the paper on which I had written my six “will statements.” My dream was still there. This year, I will buy a piece of land.
Emily Dickinson said that hope is the thing with feathers. Most days, I feel she’s a wretched bitch that won’t let me sit at the lunch table with her. We’ve not been friends.
It’s the third time this year that the Universe has had every opportunity to hand me just what I want and didn’t. My gut reaction is to curse out the Universe but calling it a string of foul obscenities is not going to endear me to it.
My only option is hope.
Hope is chained to the blind faith that the exact vision I had for what I wanted was not to be mine. What is mine is still out there. The beautiful thing is that not having it doesn’t stop it from being mine. It just means it’s currently absent. It’s on a spiritual vacation from me. It will come when it’s ready.
I don’t get to be angry at the Universe for not making my life easy. The struggle is the means to the end, not the spreadsheet with the details we make along the way.
The best thing we can do when we don’t get what we think we want is to let go. There’s no use clinging to what’s not yours. If we do, our hands are closed to what’s ours.
I’m okay with my hands being empty, at least they’re open. Fall into them what may.