So a few years ago, following the example of a friend, I wrote a letter to the universe. It was sort of a letter and sort of a shopping list. For a man person. Yes, I know. It was back when I believed I could put in an order for one. Kind of like you believe in the tooth fairy when you’re small. (Except that the tooth fairy left money for you and stuff).
I still have a copy of it somewhere. It’s a simultaneously sweet and demanding sort of letter. Since this is a first post and we don’t know each other very well yet, I’ll spare you the details. But the points that stand out are less that he should be kind and gentle and more that he should be left handed, play guitar, have a PhD and own two labradors. With great heart wrenching sincerity and hope I wrote this letter, put it in an envelope (even) and tucked it away somewhere safe.
A couple of years later, the Universe sent this man to me.
It didn’t occur to me right away, that this was him. I’m not even sure what reminded me of the letter I had forgotten about. But when I pulled it out, my letter described this lovely man almost exactly. I say almost, because the Universe decided to be selective about my list. You might be surprised to hear that he was not left handed, he did not own any pets, could barely hum a tune, let alone play an instrument and was not in possession of a PhD.
But he was intelligent. And kind and gentle and all the other things that I’d asked for, things that counted. He got me. He found me hilarious. He accepted my off-centredness. And so, a few months later, I dumped him. (This, readers, is a story for an entirely different post on an entirely different day. Suffice to say, I tend to dump men who are absolutely perfect for me).
Skip ahead a year or two and enter Universe delivery number two. This one had a PhD and two labradors. He had more of those bits and less of the bits that counted. In other words, beneath his intelligent charm, he was a little bit of a narcissist. (Ok, he was a raging narcissist, but I’m trying to be nicer about the things I say about people, for reasons I’ll explain later). So, we ended up breaking up, too. Eventually.
I learned two things from these two experiences:
1. Future such letters should include requests to help me be open to and accepting of whatever is sent my way. It doesn’t really help to get the perfect-for-you guy if you bolt in terror from them.
2. It doesn’t really matter whether he has a PhD or not. It matters if he is kind and gentle and finds me hilarious. And, most importantly, it matters that he gets me.
So. Here I am. Older and wiser (if by wiser we all understand me to mean more cynical). And my fabulous friend Danny suggested (in jest, I think) I write a blog about the requests I send out to the Universe and the ways the Universe decides to screw with me by delivering something not quite like what I requested.
Since I’m also mid-30s and still single and writing my PhD and trying to make sense of my life in general, I thought it might be a handy exercise to force myself to look for what the Universe might be sending me, every day.
Come along for the ride. It should be fun.