Whenever the pessimist inside me takes over, she quickly reminds me that negative emotions attract negative outcomes. She also has informed me that she believes signs are there to guide us on the road of life.
If you continuously run across a word or phrase or keep coming back to a particular occurrence, you should pay attention because a higher force could be at work, attempting to tell you something.
My own personal experiences have led me to believe there is a sort of divine synchronicity at work in the universe. I talk about one of those occasions here. I talk about another one of those experiences here. And those are just the big ones.
(Caution: Gear Shift)
My inability to write any meaningful fiction has been one of the biggest heartbreaks I've faced in my attempt to find emotional and spiritual wellness.
On numerous occasions, I've sat in front of the computer screen, hoping to find some shred of inspiration, hoping the love of writing would find me again.
Again and again, I go to bed disappointed.
I agonize over where the writer in me went. I used to love writing. Aside from singing, it was the only thing I was ever naturally good at. My passion for it was once so great I ended up talking to a priest at my church about whether or not it was healthy.
"Remember, Kathryn, it's your secondary vocation," Father Dermot told me in his fading Irish brogue. "You have children and a husband whose needs come first."
And he was right. At the time, I had my head buried in the sand, refusing to see my husband's illness.
Now...now the hubby is on the mend, and my children are often off doing their own thing. All of them would rather see me sitting in front of a computer than bothering them.
I've tried to immerse myself in music, which has often fueled my inspiration in the past. This past week, I've been blasting Blondie tunes -- Rapture, Atomic, Call Me, The Tide is High and Heart of Glass. Still, I haven't been able to connect with that creative side of myself again.
Hal, a friend of mine who read my first manuscript and often urges me to seek a larger audience for it, has told me I need to "reconnect with my higher power" to find that love of writing again.
I never really knew what that meant.
Then earlier this week I received the most (seemingly) innocuous press release about a concert being put on by a Caucasian pastor who ministers on an Indian reservation. In the story, the minister talks about how the first time he heard the "Native Flute" being played he felt the music touch his soul.
He decided to learn how to play it, and when he became quite skilled at the instrument rather quickly on his own, a parishioner told him: "It comes to you naturally. That means the Creator wants you to pray to Him this way."
The quote smacked me between the eyes because it described exactly the way I used to feel when I wrote fiction --like the very act of writing somehow allowed me to communicate directly with God.
Since then, I've given a lot of thought about a crude phrase my dad sometimes says: "(Poop) or get off the pot." In other words, it's time to make a decision about whether or not I should continue trying to rediscover that passion for fiction.
Should I give it another go? Or should I simply give up on one of my biggest dreams?
Earlier tonight, I must have listened to "The Tide Is High" about four or five times on the way to and from the grocery store. I was really digging the syncopation, the horns and the vocal harmonies. Like a fool, I even sat in the garage for a few minutes after arriving at home just so I could belt out the last few notes.
That's when I realize divine synchronicity was rearing her gorgeous head once again.
I think there was a reason I decided to dig out the Blondie CD from the closet. Maybe it's because I'm supposed to realize: "I'm not the kind of girl who gives up just like that. Oh nooooooo."