“You are where you’re supposed to be” said the tiny little foil wrapper of a Dove Dark Chocolate Promise. The dark chocolate melts on my tongue as I ponder this thought and how it seemingly connects all the random elements and happenings thus far. I think of where I am right now in my life: I recently ended a friendship with someone who I am going to miss, I will be meeting a new guy for a first date tomorrow and work is…well….tough. I sit at my desk smiling at this little piece of foil and can hardly believe that something that’s sole purpose only seconds before was to wrap candy--is now reassuring me about my place in the universe. The Divine works in mysterious ways (and apparently understands and accepts my love of dark chocolate).
This little tidbit of Divine knowledge is challenged later in the evening, as I sit resting on my yoga mat after having twisted my body into various triangle and warrior poses in a not-so-graceful manner. The credits roll on my favorite yoga TV program as I absorb the calming effect that the movement-with-breath flow has had on my mental state. Suddenly, the sound of a lawn mower buzzing loudly from the TV screen startles me out of my zen-state of mind. I look up to see a TV commercial featuring lawn mowers, flower beds and picket fences. I sit there watching as happy couples skip in and out of a garden center, their faces screaming “Spring is coming!”, “I want to dig in the dirt!”, “This year my grass will be greener than my neighbors”.
I listen as the commercial narrator tells the world that nature doesn’t always know when the grass should be green and so we should rush in to their store to purchase chemicals to dump on it. I roll my eyes in complete disgust and reach for the remote to send this commercial into the black hole of a turned off TV set, when suddenly, the sight of a happy couple planting an herb garden comes onto the screen—I freeze. The commercial becomes a time machine and transports me back to my former life in the country, where I was part of one such couple and we had an herb garden. The memory of the tinfoil promise is suddenly lost in the new rush of TV marketing and not-too-old memories.
I grip the remote tighter and press the red “off” button more than once in my annoyance to erase the scene from my line of vision and fade the memory. I turn my head to see the barren, screened-in patio that I have now--it’s quite a contrast to the lush and green country yard I used to have. I take a deep breath as I continue to study the contrast between then and now. The current view seems to highlight all that I have lost in this world.
What happens next can only be described as the universe re-affirming its tinfoil promise to me. The pleasant memories start to fade as the not-too-pleasant memories start to creep in. I look back to the patio and see the furniture that I picked out without having to consult (or argue) with anyone. I remember the $300 Japanese maple that drowned—despite the searing heat of an August in NC-- in the mostly-clay soil we had in the yard. I also remember that we were not that happy couple on TV planting the herb garden – we were arguing over which herbs and what placement was best. I remember his obsession with grass and how after years of effort and lots of wasted money, nature laughed in his face because the green grass never grew—and I am slightly amused as I wonder if that was a sign of things to come.
As I stand and roll-up my yoga mat, I think of the rollercoaster ride that my life has been. I think of how the universe seems to randomly bounce people around like ping-pong balls. You smack into this or that or him or her. Sometimes you seem to float, sometimes you overshoot or fall short of your target and no matter how much you question the way life tosses you about, you never seem to understand any of it until you are able to look back from a distance.
My mind wants to continually throw out this candy wrapper “promise” because it seems too simple to explain away the seemingly random and unpredictable path of life but the tinfoil wisdom emerges victorious as my view shifts and I realize that I feel completely at home where I am at in my life. Instead of noticing the contrast between then and now I take the advice that came with the chocolate: “You are where you’re supposed to be” Period.
Gigi 3/2/2011
