Dancing with the Universe

Endings have always been my weakness. Beginnings, I am fond of, transitions I can survive, but endings disorient me, sometimes to the point of questioning my entire life. It’s not difficult to understand why. I become too attached to the known, too in love with the past. I see what’s been through rose-colored glasses, ignoring the tragedy and forgetting the pain. I remember the sweetness and somehow convince myself that my tomorrows, no matter how grand, will never live up to today.

This philosophy is like a disease. It poisons my memories with grandeur, embellishing the best moments to the point of perfection. And perfection is something I can never reproduce. Thus, I remain trapped in a dreary present, wishing for the past, unaware of the greatness the future may hold.

Thrown into uncertainty by the destruction of my most recent relationship, I went to see an intuitive to help me rediscover my path. Almost immediately, she told me I was ungrounded, and as such I would need others to feel secure. This explained my reliance upon relationships. Adequate grounding consists of energy connecting a body to the earth. A strong grounding enables a person to feel safe with themselves, in addition to having the power to manifest. I didn’t always lack grounding, the intuitive added; she sensed the last time I was grounded was at the age of sixteen. This, I marveled at, for sixteen was the age at which I experienced my first ending: the loss of my grandmother, whose death tore my world apart.

Though I have encountered many endings since, losing my grandmother has stayed with me, a constant reminder of the impermanence of life and love. It made sense that I was grounded before her loss...until then, I never feared the future for what it could take from me. Since then, I have been addicted to security, a result of not trusting my true self.

Haunted by this new discovery, I worried that my ability to ground may have been lost with my innocence. These days, I find myself chasing symbols, settling for the map instead of the road. My dread of uncertainty is overwhelming; I cannot witness chaos without fear. I become attached to outcomes that are never realized. A prisoner of past conditioning, I am frightened of the unknown, and thus the field of all possibilities remains hidden from me.

This languid panic consumed me until one night in February when everything changed. I had been thinking about my endings, wishing for more time, my grandmother never far from my mind. Her loss had become a sort of landmark, by which to measure all things loved and losable: if I could lose her, I could lose anyone.

A friend’s birthday celebration was at hand, and though my mood was anything but social, I decided to stop by. The alcohol had been flowing long before my arrival, so I was on the outside looking in. They wanted to go downtown, to a bar to celebrate, and they wanted me to join them. Hesitancy washed over me, I’d had my ending with partying long ago. These days, drinking was just a reminder of my wild days now past; a reminder of those I’d drank with, now lost. At that moment, every fiber of my being intended on going home. I’d lived large enough in New York City to last me a lifetime. No Santa Barbara night could either live up to or replace that. And yet, something in me faltered, a force far greater than my own volition stepped into play. With a little encouragement from the birthday boy, I abandoned my laurels and allowed myself to come along.

The bar was essentially what I had expected. Faceless people losing themselves for a night of unencumbered fun. They were easy to recognize, for I had been among them once. Surrounded by the mayhem, I felt young and old at the same time: too young to belong, but too old to want to. One drink turned into two, and the champagne quieted my inner critic.

Sometime after midnight, two of us left to get pizza. We were carded at the door. A large, African-American security guard smiled at my ID and let us in. While waiting for our pizza, the guard approached me.

Synchronicity, in the dictionary, is defined as the meaningful coincidence of events. Something akin to causality, but with design and purpose. That night, standing at the bar at Uncle Rocco’s, I would have thought my grandmother to be the last thing on my mind. But she wasn’t, and what happened next was proof of that.

“So, Chelsea Bets, you were named for your grandmother, weren’t you?” Still smiling, the security guard was beside me. I looked up at him, confusion in my eyes.

“Yes...” was all I could reply.

“I bet you want to know how I knew that, don’t you?” the guard asked with pride.

“Yes...” I stammered, any other response temporarily lost on me.

“Well, I can’t tell you all my secrets, now can I?” The guard grinned and walked away.

Bets: my middle name has always been a source of confusion for people. They believe it has to do with gambling, unaware it’s a shortened form of “Betty,” which was my grandmother’s first name. Proud of my namesake, I’ve used my middle name all my life, sometimes even in place of my last name. And yet, not one person has ever correctly guessed its origin. Not one person until now.

I left Uncle Rocco’s that night with a million questions, but the guard was nowhere in sight. I’ve since made plans to return there, at the same time on the same night, to try to ask him how he knew. My mom believes he was an angel. Others receive the story as a joke. As for me, I know it was my grandmother somehow reaching me, telling me she’s still out there.

Though endings will always be my weakness, perhaps I can learn to let some of them go. Not every relationship is worth mourning; some endings are a blessing in disguise. Each ending I’ve experienced has existed so that a new beginning could take its place. Rather than gripping the past so tightly, I must learn to find comfort in the unknown. I must look to the future for answers, embracing chaos and accelerating my evolution. I will relinquish my attachment to the known. As Deepak Chopra states so eloquently, “through the wisdom of uncertainty, I will find my security.” In his words, “the more uncertain things seem to be, the more secure I will feel, because uncertainty is my path to freedom.”

One day soon, I will return to find the security guard who changed me, but I remain unattached to what will result. Instead, I will prepare for all outcomes, unconditionally, and when the opportunity presents itself, perhaps the answers will spontaneously appear.