Coincidence or fate
Coincidence or fate? It’s a question I’ve never really considered before, however, I’ve always believed that everything happens for a reason. Last Fall my husband & I faced a difficult circumstance that tested my belief in this overused sentiment & I was forced to consider whether I truly appreciated what it meant.
There is much more to say on this subject but for now, I want to share a short story I happened upon this morning.
It’s almost mid February & I’m just a few weeks away from announcing C E Á R R publicly. As I slowly worked through backdated blog entries while sipping my coffee, the following post came to light.
Coincidence? Perhaps. Fate? Maybe. Either way, discovering these exact words so close to beginning the fulfillment of a dream seemed too wonderful not to commit to paper. Ironically, my word for 2020 is “purpose.” Looking back on this entry makes me believe I may have found it a long time ago, I just didn’t have the confidence to implement it.
“The page was blank. A stark, white vastness that had become all too familiar as of late. Her head whirled with thoughts & ideas she longed to express, yet she struggled to find her voice. The clean, unmarked pages of the notebook made her heart pound with anxiety. Where she had once found excitement & inspiration now belonged to a terrifyingly deep, black hole.
It had started several weeks ago. She took a deep breath & stared hard at the emptiness, desperate to face the reality of what or who was holding her back. Her ongoing search for purpose had become increasingly tiresome. The thought of writing filled her with worry & as each day passed, regret grew ever more cumbersome. She paused to ask herself why. Despite knowing better, she had hoped the answer would present itself immediately. Visions of overcoming the obstacle that seemed to heighten with every attempt to conquer it raced through her mind. She longed to bid adieu to the debilitating blackness that had become her creativity nemesis. The familiar buzz of the washing machine quickly halted her apparition & once again the page was blank.
With a defeated sigh, she left the scene of despair to tackle the uninspiring list of household chores. In the quiet of the laundry room, the wind tugged at the door leading to the garden. Outside was bitterly cold & although the sun was shining, March had thus far been unwelcomely reminiscent of Winter. It too was becoming tiresome. The mundane task of organizing laundry heightened her frustration at the situation. She was fed up.
The problem wasn't the absence of inspiration. In truth, there were stories she wanted to share. Sentences she yearned to compose. She leaned against the dryer, absorbing the warmth emitting from its exterior. Taking a moment to ponder the situation, she found herself probing deep into thoughts concerning why. Why was she afraid to write? Why was it continuously atop her to-do list, yet never accomplished? Was it the fear of what people might think? The worry of being judged? Perhaps. She dug a little deeper.
At the root of the issue was the reoccurring speculation that in order to be successful, she needed a purpose.”