belief

Simple twist of fate…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

Do you believe in fate? Maybe you think even asking the question is absurd. Part of me agrees. Life just happens, right?

There doesn’t appear to be much rhyme or reason to the things that happen. Whether examined through a personal or global lens, it all feels random. Chaotic, even. Yet, there a times when the pieces fall precisely together. Incredibly unlikely circumstances align to create perfect moments. Almost like they were destined to be.

The Man

We didn’t live in the same city or have the same interests. We didn’t know any of the same people or enjoy the same places. The chances of us ever crossing paths was minute. Cross they did. We met at an event that he attended as a professional commitment and I was drawn to for ethical reasons. Here’s the thing, he was handsome & broody, but speaking another language. Not literally; we just weren’t on the same page at all. Still, I was intrigued. I wanted to keep listening to all the things that wouldn’t normally interest me. Alas, someone wanted to introduce me to an editor and blah, blah, blah. The moment passed, along with any chance of seeing the enigmatic stranger again. Or so I thought. Three days later I was cc’d on an email that I spent 5 seconds on before it landed in my trash box. Luckily for me someone else on the recipients list paid more attention. His ensuing email led to a steamy romance and an enduring friendship. Now that strange man is an integral part of life. Almost like it was meant to be.

The Finances

At various points in my life I have experienced weird financial luck. Sometimes tiny and sometimes more significant. I have found myself short of the funds needed for something specific. Then out of nowhere I will receive money that I had no expectation of. An out of blue tax rebate, holiday pay that I wasn’t even aware I was due, unpaid invoice is suddenly satisfied. A last minute monetary reprieve. This might sound fanciful or even just plain stupid, but I’ve always had this thought that perhaps someone or something was looking out for me.

The Job

I had just graduated. I took on full time hours in the call centre I had been working evenings in. Three weeks in, I was losing my mind. 12hr shifts that were actually 13hrs (they didn’t pay me for the legally required breaks), customers who either wanted to fight about their bill or ask me to describe the films on the adult channels. Oh and managers who were trained by some sort of despot. However, the rent needed to be paid. So, I found myself applying for every job under the sun and accepting the first one that was remotely suitable. The first few weeks I thought I had leaped out of the pan and into the fire. It was so boring. The most mundane, repetitive office job imaginable. My manager was an overly religious ogre. It was dire. Then some fellow new starts hit the floor and things started looking up. We clicked immediately. They were all in similar positions, just graduated or in need of stop gap employment. Suddenly there’s laughter, common ground and epic nights out. They made that job bearable and that job gave me the impetus to do what I really wanted to do. I began to seek out writing jobs. I put myself out there and started to get small jobs. It was the beginning of my career. Had I not found myself in such an employment dead end I may not have summoned the bravery to go for it. Who knows what twist of fate brought us all together in that godforsaken retail park, but I’m grateful. 20 odd years later they’re all still in my life. We’ve formed deep & wonderful friendships. Feels to me that we were meant to meet.

The Flower

I have always liked white flowers. They’re fresh and pretty. In the aftermath of my first miscarriage I took a walk in the park by my flat. I needed some time alone to think and feel. As I sat by the river a whole bunch of white flowers drifted past. I don’t know how they came to be there, they were fresh cut flowers. Whatever the reason they felt significant. Since then white flowers have been a presence in my life. I’ll see them in the wild in moments when I need comfort. I saw an arrangement at the nurses station when I was admitted after my third miscarriage and a white rose motif in a stained glass window at the clinic I attended for tests to ascertain the reason for my recurrent losses. White flowers just turn up, serendipitously, a sign that my little ones are somewhere.

I’ll be your mirror…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

I’ve been thinking a lot about relationships lately. I’m preoccupied by the dynamics of my own romantic history, but also the societal norms. The things we tell ourselves, the advice we give and believe.

There are tropes I find easy to dismiss. I know you don’t need to love yourself to have others love you. Lots of warm, kind, excellent folk don’t like themselves all the time. Self doubt doesn’t make good qualities any less appealing. Obviously loving yourself is beneficial in countless ways. Whilst you’re working on it, you aren’t exempt from third party estimation.

I’ve never bought into ‘you’ll find them when you’re not looking’ thing. I found a few lovely people by actively looking. They might not have been forever, but they were good experiences. A couple I’ve kept around on a platonic basis. It’s always struck me as daft advice. The exact opposite of the accepted wisdom on goal achievement. We tell each other to put the work in when seeking career advancement, not to buy the first thing we like when making big purchases, practise hard to develop new skills and so on. If every other life enhancement requires careful consideration & applying ourselves why should we leave finding a life partner to chance. Sure, a meet cute is romantic; it’s just not all that realistic for most people. Very few things of value fall into one’s lap. Putting yourself out there appears sensible.

There are many more obviously problematic cliches. I’d love to bin that ‘if you can’t handle me at my worst’ nonsense. It lends itself way too easily to toxic situations. Everything happens for a reason is similarly flawed. You’ll drive yourself crazy with that one. Sometimes life is random & people are fuckwits, you cannot base decisions on chaos. Trust your gut is 50/50, lots of us have less than stellar instincts. Plenty of fish in sea, tonnes of utter garbage too. Love at first sight is usually just desire. We each have more than one soulmate and karma rarely gets involved in romantic entanglements. I’m sure you get my point. I’ve had my share of passion & I’m not buying the prosaic instruction.

Or am I? I do find myself stuck on some well worn pearls. I can’t completely rid myself of the notion that how we feel about ourselves inform the partners we choose and how they treat us. Nor can I discount, we get the love life we believe we deserve. Perhaps these speak to my own experiences & mental struggles. I can see how that would make sense. I often think of myself as difficult. I’m uncompromising on many points, strident, damaged. I recognise I also have more endearing characteristics. Still, you could summarise most of my amorous affairs as complicated. Kind souls with simpler offerings rarely hold my attention for long. Out & out baddies are likewise swiftly disguarded. I learned early not to let anyone smash my heart to pieces. However, I will absolutely keep coming back if you make a riddle of slowly dismantling the pieces.

I think loving me is laborious, so I choose relationships with challenging dynamics. Can it really be that simple? I know my penchant for the fickle isn’t unique & many other unhelpful patterns exist. Believe me, taking all the blame isn’t a huge leap for me. On the other hand, wouldn’t establishing that as fact encourage the beliefs that started this? Confirming that one’s perceived maladjustment is the cause of failed romance seems to solidify those negative beliefs. That strikes me as sticky little trap.

I feel there has been a shift in the focus of romantic guidance we consume. These seemingly deeper insights are definitely well intended. I think we offer this advice because we want to protect people we care for & we believe it for self preservation. Having control is comforting. Thus it’s tempting to internalise blame. If you’re at fault, you can fix it. I’m just wondering if it all becomes a self fulfilling prophecy. When think we pick the wrong people and we accept the wrong behaviour, don’t we just lower our opinion of ourselves? I worry that just leaves a person open to more manipulation & ill treatment.

We accept the love we think we deserve in black lettering on pink background

It especially gives me pause because I see it most often aimed at women & people with mental health issues. It’s perplexing. On one hand introspection totally makes sense. On the other it plays into really unhealthy existing thought patterns. Basically I’m wondering if in the guise of taking responsibility we’re actually setting ourselves up to fail.

I’m in danger of going full Carrie Bradshaw with all the relationship pondering, but what do you think? Are there any wise (or not so wise) words that have had an impact on you?Carrie Bradshaw from s&tc with text ‘when it comes to life & love, do we accept our worst reviews’

Still after all this time…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

It’s Friday night. I’m watching Bridget Jones’s baby (again) after which I shall go to bed & continue re reading Persuasion. Probably a pretty nice cosy night in, but Bridget & Austen are red flags for me.

I always read Austen when I feel wobbly. I find the manners & gentle wit soothing. Whenever I read about Elliots or Dashwoods they seep into my dreams. Georgian heroines winning happy endings is a definite upgrade on what’s usually swilling around my subconscious. Bridget Jones offers a similar, but slightly more bittersweet comfort. Echoes of Austen, shadows of my own experience. Sadly, sans the fairy tale ending. They amount to my mixed media version of a junk food binge.

I love some good old fashioned romance, but my own Mr Darcy is not what I’m longing for. I don’t know that I’m actually cut out for the conventional vision of love. I’ve given it some good tries; satisfaction never abounds. Perhaps what I miss is just more innocent times. Younger me believed in things I can’t muster the faith for anymore. That is both freeing and, well, sad.

I feel like I’m standing on the edge. I can’t see what lies beneath. The uncertainty scares me. I’m grinding through the days. Fighting the urge to stay in bed. Backing thoughts of blood into corners. I’m teetering on the brink of that big blank something.

Maybe this is how you feel when you’re prone to crazy and about to turn 40. Or perhaps this is just always going to happen. Remission & Relapse. Almost sounds like a novel a 21st century Jane Austen would write. She’d probably find a way to lighten to the mood. Alas, I lack her talent.

Instead I’ll borrow some well-being from her work. Mansfield Park can follow Persuasion. I might even dig out the Bridget books too. I’ll take light relief where I can get. Hold my nerve. I’ve survived steeper falls than this. There’s always safe ground waiting.

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