Omens
So this was an interesting weekend in more ways than one. It makes me kind of wonder if there is really a dimension above time in which past present and future are all melded together in a heap of illogical patterns of causation. Do we "know" what is going to happen? And then because of our knowing, that thing happens? Or are we tapping into some larger knowledge base that exists outside our realm? Let me tell you, these things could be taken lightly, deeply, or not at all. But it still makes me think something weird is going on. Something that I can't grasp.
So my cousin Rob got married on Saturday. We were all having a ball at the reception. Then it came time for the bride to throw the boquet. I walk up there, but had this strange "knowing" that I was going to catch the boquet. All the girls crowded onto the dance floor like sardines, trying to shift their positions to get a better chance. But I didn't even bother moving. I knew I was going to catch it. I was standing on the outermost edge of the crowd and it didn't even matter. I was going to catch it.
Then, as if she were throwing directly to me, I just simply reached my hand up and grabbed it right out of the air. It was so simple. And yet I couldn't believe it. My mom was going wild, my whole side of the family was going crazy. At the end of it all, both my parents came up to me and told me they knew I was going to catch it, too. "I knew you were going to catch it!" said my mom. My dad informed me he had made the "prediction" a few days earlier, saying, "I bet Sammie catches the boquet at the wedding," with such certainty. Now, you can think what you want, but I know that the feeling of "knowing" I experienced, was so strong, it was impossible to ignore. And the fact that both my parents felt the same knowing, is all just a little strange to me.
On the same token of omens, Nick experienced another "glitch in the matrix" if you will. We were on the subject of what I should do with my life after Lehigh. I've been gung ho about this furniture thing, but the familiar thoughts of doubt had started to creep back into my mind. This happens whenever I pick something and run with it for a while. The excitment dies down and in the end, I am left not feeling any more confident of my chosen path as I was before. Any prompt to promote my pursuance of furniture had always been met by a strange internal resistance, deep inside myself. I began doubting, once again, if this was really for me. After all, why hadn't I been doing it on my own? The conversation ended in tears as I sank into the same old feelings of being lost, confused and helpless.
Nick took a hold of my hand, leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and became very very quiet. I was in shambles too much to notice at first, but I eventually calmed down enough to look over at him to see what he was doing. I saw him squinting his eyes as if he were trying to see something. "What are you doing?" I asked. But he didn't answer me. "Nick, what are you doing? Why won't you answer me?" He just grunted, and continued what he was doing. I decided to stop caring, so I leaned back down and closed my eyes, feeling the exhaustion envelop me as he continued to hold my hand. I waited patiently until he seemed to come to.
"What was that all about?" I asked. He told me saw me in the future. He described that I was sitting at a pottery wheel. My hands were covered in mud, and my hair was even longer than it is now. I had a baby strapped to my back, and there were shelves upon shelves of beautifully sculpted and painted pots and vases. Some were more like scultpures of flowers and others had intricate designs. He said that I liked working with the earth, working with something that I knew wouldn't harm me. I liked the limitless freedom, and the idea that any mistake can be corrected for before the pot was fired. I was peaceful and happy, just working on that wheel, by myself, totally absorbed. "Maybe you're a potter," he finally said to me.
I don't know what happened, but something deep inside myself just resonated with everything he said, and I broke down crying, once again. Only this time, the tears were more of a joy than a sorrow. It was as if he was showing me to myself, telling me who I was when I otherwise, did not realize. Everything he said was true, about why I would love pottery. Sculpting was one of the things I even loved as a kid. It was one of the only crafts I kept up with, while others fell by the wayside. Though I haven't done anything in a while, I've had opportunities to sculpt in the past couple of years and enjoyed it every time. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. I would have complete and total freedom in creativity... I could make anything. I would also have complete freedom in when I worked, how long I worked, how much I was paid. I would be my own boss, and I would not be bound by anyone or anything but myself. I could work anywhere, live anywhere, do anything. I could take my business with me wherever I went. There would be very little overhead with relatively minimal up-front costs (as much as would be needed to get a kiln, a wheel, and initial supplies). It has limited potential for growth. I could do mail orders, I could open a store. I could work from home and get tax deductions on nearly every expense I would pay to live, as it would relate back to my business.
I stayed up thinking about it. And thinking, and thinking, and the more it made sense, the more excited I got. The thoughts of doubt try to creep back in, "what if I don't like it?, what if it doesn't work out?" but the odd part about it all is that I have the same feeling of "knowing" about it as I did with that boquet. I just know it's going to happen. Somehow, someday, someway. Whether I prepare for it now, or do something else and pick it up in the future, I just know it's going to come back to that.
"I just thought you needed a little help," was all Nick had to say about that.