I believe in signs from the universe.
I'm not saying I believe that the universe is sending postmarked letters to my home address, but I am suggesting that there are signs and symbols out there – breadcrumbs, if you will – that I can choose to see or not see, to follow or not follow, to believe or to dismiss. And I'm saying that I choose to keep my eyes open in hopes of spotting them.
The pennies face up in the puddle beside my car in the parking lot at the market on a particularly challenging rainy day, the cardinal outside my kitchen window over and over again across several different kitchens and 17 plus years, traffic parting magically that evening last summer as we drove to the hospital after Lucy broke her leg. Little things, mostly, making me think I'm on the right track or giving me a little nudge to the left, or to the right.
Does it sound like I think there's a roadmap? (Good golly, wouldn't it be equal parts fantastic and awful to have a roadmap?) Mercifully, there is no map. But if I open my eyes wide to the world around me and if I make myself available to see them, there are occasional glimpses of the faint tracks of the unknown lighting my way.