A Parisian adventure that I experienced while LB and I were still looking for an apartment has taught me a great life lesson: signs of destiny are real. I am now convinced that there is a superhuman force that puts on our way tangible clues that theatrically –and by theatrical I mean as obvious as a bright neon sign- show us which the right path is and which, on the other hand, we’d better avoid.
Obviously not even I, at the beginning, believed this bizarre theory, which by the way was greatly opposed by LB that kept repeating that we make our own destiny, blah blah.
Eventually –as it often happens- LB was wrong and my gut right and we had been better off listening to it. Using a metaphor, I’m not saying that we should simply follow the river and let it carry us wherever it goes, but just that swimming upstream isn’t always a good idea, especially when the river is going uphill and the cold wind blows in one direction while you are desperately trying to go the opposite way. In other words, sometimes you need to read and interpret the signs.
My misadventure, the one that led me to support this theory, is mainly divided in two parts, the good part and the bad part.
The bad part.
LB and I were desperately looking for an apartment. We had posted ads everywhere and asked for help on every existing website ever. Since we couldn’t go through an agency because we didn’t have a French warrantor, we found ourselves quite in a difficult position. Luckily –perhaps- after posting an ad on LBC, a very popular French website where you can buy or sell practically anything, many home owners started contacting us. We were in a sort of trance that prevented us from thinking clearly, so much that, after visiting five or six apartments –in which we lived many other adventures that I’ll tell you about some other time- we decided to move into Shorty’s (yes, another code name. I’m specifying that in case there actually are some French guys named Shorty, you never know). The only problem was, Shorty wouldn’t sign a contract and that meant that I couldn’t ask for student subsidies. On the other hand, without a warrantor no one else seemed to be willing to sign a contract either, so we packed our bags, ready to move.
I, though, was feeling uneasy. I was really nervous and had a terrible feeling, as if something terrible was about to happen. The night of the move LB picked me up at university with the luggage and I, who was supposed to be ecstatic because we had finally found a place to stay, kept racking my brain about the contract-issue. It was troubling me immensely.
Once we got to the train station I realized that I had forgotten my credit card and left it in the first apartment, where we were supposed to sleep for one last night.
Thinking back on it all, it seems obvious to me what the universe –and my subconscious- were trying to tell me: we weren’t supposed to move yet, it wasn’t the time nor the place. We did move anyway and, only a couple of days later, we found out that LB needed a house contract in order to be able to work.
So we had to start looking again, losing quite a bit of money.
The good part.
The good part starts when a real-estate agent of an apartment that, I don’t know why, we had initially dismissed , gets in touch with us. It wasn’t exactly in Paris but in one of the many little towns around it, which didn’t really bother us, because it was really close to my university.
The house was in S.Longchamp. Longchamp, like the brand I love, the brand of my purse. A good sign, right?
We got off at the S. Longchamp station and, guess what, there were two sorties –exits- and one of them was in Rue Merlin. Well, Merlin isn’t Arthur and if the rue had been Rue Arthur I would have probably signed the contract immediately, but the thing is that I love the TV show Merlin –as I think those who follow this blog or have looked at the banner might know, since Colin Morgan and Bradley James are a recurrent element- and seeing the big eared wizard’s name printed on the pretty blue sign made me go visiting the apartment in a much happier and willing mood than I was before.
Finally, while we were getting acquainted with our roommates, one of them put on a CD and, guess what, one of the songs was the original soundtrack from which the promoters of the gay party in our Italian town used to create the anthem-song of that party.
We signed the contract and we’ve been living in the new house for three weeks now. It’s been the best choice we’ve made in Paris so far.
What I want to say is that, sometimes, you need to forget about your brain and go with your gut. Probably the “signs of destiny” don’t even exist but it’s our subconscious using this or that event as a pretext to create them. And who knows what we really want better than our own subconscious?
So when you think you’ve seen a sign don’t stop and try to rationalize it –because it will always mean what you want it to mean- and don’t ask yourself why you’ve seen it –because if you’ve seen it, you wanted to see it– but ask yourself what you could lose following it. If the answer isn’t your life, just go for it.