Agnostic. Atheist. Spiritualist. Believer. None of these labels seem to mesh wholly with my worldview.
On the one hand, I’m a firm believer that “the absence of evidence is not evidence of absence”. Just because I haven’t seen overwhelming ‘proof’ that something exists, doesn’t conclusively prove that it doesn’t. On the other hand, I can’t quite bring myself to believe.
Having said that, I think there have been times in my life when being open to spiritual concepts has enabled me to: reach conclusions; find peace; be in the right place; be receptive; be hopeful; etc. etc. etc.
The absence of evidence is not evidence of absence – Carl Sagan
The most memorable example I can think of is that, six or seven years ago I began an Access course in the town I used to live in. Things went badly in my personal life and I made the decision to abandon my learning. At the time, I was devastated. I felt as though there would never come a point in my life where I could put myself first.
September 2016 I tried again. The same course in a different town. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t terrified. Despite an overall improvement in the stability of life at home, nagging doubts flittered around in my brain – it’ll happen again, who are you trying to kid? why bother? you’re wasting your time. This time, though, I was determined that nothing would get in my way.
Not only did I complete the course with decent grades and my sanity intact, an amazing thing happened. I made friends with two of the most incredible women I’ve ever met. It’s my genuine belief that, had I completed the original course that I signed up for, I would have come away with nothing but a qualification. Nothing to be sneezed at, for sure, but I was certainly not at a place in my life where friendships was a thing I could cope with. Plus, I might never have had the opportunity to meet Little Norm and Crazy Norm. 😦
Perhaps the Universe knew that 😉
Fast-forward to today
There’s nothing quite like the feeling, when you finally release a breath you didn’t know you were holding.
That’s not entirely accurate. I kinda did know I was holding it. I’ve been concerned about money for a couple of months now; to the point where, despite other commitments – family, housework, volunteering, university – I applied for a job. As previously chronicled, the interview did not go well. It was rescheduled or, as it turns out, cancelled. I was told I would get a call on Saturday to rearrange for Monday (today). The call never came.
Now, this isn’t the end of the world. Mostly because I was beginning to doubt whether the job was a good idea in the first place. It certainly didn’t ease my worries but I knew I had at least one other iron in the fire; a claim I’d made for financial support. The only problem with that, was the dwindling funds in my account combined with the knowledge that such claims can take up to six weeks to be assessed. I made the claim two weeks ago.
In this little haze of panic and doubt, I was psyching myself up to call the good people at Tesco and try, again, to secure myself employment. Do it. Don’t do it. Do it. Don’t do it.
For some reason, I checked my bank account. I had no reason to suspect that it might yield anything positive. Perhaps I was just trying to remind myself how close to broke I’ve become. Then, there in the ‘In’ column, bright and green and glowing – backdated payment.
So there it is. The Universe, in all of its unfathomable glory; making my decisions for me.