I remember how excited I used to get about synchronicity.
Times when sequences of impossible coincidences unfolded as naturally as breathing, and I had a sense of awe and communion with the universe.
From that sense of communion came a bravery beyond my default capacities; a boldness in following each path wherever it may lead; a knowing that everything is always taken care of and that there is an underlying connective tissue through all of existence.
So naturally, it’s something of a buzzkill when those synchronicities often led to dead ends and heartbreak unlike anything I’d ever endured before.
Eventually, this amounted to a diminished appreciation for what had previously been one of the primary wonders of my world.
Communion and awe have been replaced by boredom and cynicism.
I doubt even the most dazzling synchronicity could grab my attention compellingly at this juncture.
I simply don’t care anymore. I don’t care what it means. I find myself doubting that it ever meant anything to begin with.
It’s more likely that my ability to interpret the meaning is impaired by my own tendency for delusional, unrealistic thinking.
And that it was never synchronicity that led me to those dead ends and heartbreaks, but my own underdeveloped intellect and sense.
There has to be a balance…
A way to feel connected to life and awe and wonder, while also grounded, humble, and sure-footed.
I may have some more healing to do before I can let the awe and wonder back in…
Or maybe the healing won’t fully happen until I do.
Also published on Medium.