I admit: I’m a sign-seeker.
Maybe it sounds like crazy mystic hoodoo nonsense, but it’s been my experience that, at least for me, major decisions seem to go best if I do all the preparatory legwork in advance and then wait for the Universe to give me some indication that my idea has been approved and I’m green-lighted to go ahead with Making It So. If I strike out on my own, I get it right about 50% of the time; but if I wait for a sign, things work out about 90% of the time (the remaining 10% is reserved for when I notice the sign only after it’s too late to do anything about it).
Case in point: Moon Man. I’d left a five-year relationship with Mr Oh So Hot But Oh So Wrong, and had leapt right into dating the first fellow who came along, who was … let’s go with “not quite what I was dreaming of”. I’d emailed Moon Man a couple months earlier on a dating site but hadn’t heard back from him, but I’d found Rebound Fellow through the same site and was starting to think it was all just hokum anyway, and had finally hit that frustration point where I threw my hands into the air and said “Ok, god, look. I fold. None of the people I’ve picked out has worked long-term, so I give up. You want me to be with someone, you find ’em, ’cause I. am. done. with. this. nonsense”. Moon Man emailed me the next day, and we were married three years later.
Here’s another one, for the skeptical: I left college midway through, because at that point I was still with the Ex Who Refused to Get a Damned Job and I needed to go earn the rent money. Several years later, I was working at the Call Center of Soul-Crushing Despair on the 12:30-9:00 p.m. shift, and had realized that if I ever wanted a job with more responsibility and commensurate paycheck than you could get by just wandering in off the street, I needed to finish my degree. In the meantime, I had discovered an interest in hagiography–the history and stories about saints (I’m a Gemini. There’s no predicting where our minds will land). One afternoon I poked idly at the university’s website, y’know, just for kicks, to see what classes were being offered in the upcoming semester, bearing in mind that I needed morning classes…and the English Department had an 8:30 Saints Legends class, which had never been offered there before. Three of the other classes I needed were at equally convenient times, so I enrolled. And finished three semesters later. And here’s where it gets extra-fun: I graduated in December, got a promotion in January, and got another promotion–this one requiring a degree–in February, effectively tripling my income in two months.
And in case all that wasn’t quite enough, my other big concern about going back to school was the fact that my old advisor had retired. So I went to the General Undergrad Advisor for the English Department, and discovered that it was a lady whose son I’d had at the daycare where I used to work.
Now here’s why I’m telling you these stories: Dad died at 11:11 a.m., so 11:11 is an important number for me. And for the last two months, I have been noticing 11:11s all the bloody time. Not in any reasonable way, either–it’s not like I’ve got an internal timer that just goes off every 12 hours now. No, it’s popping up apropos of nothing. “My stomach is growling. Is it lunchtime yet?” I think, and check the clock, and it’s 11:11. “Do I have time to watch a DVRed episode of Project Runway before bed?” 11:11. “Man, that was the best shower ever. I was in there for, like, three days! …Seriously, though, how long was I in there? I went in at, like, 10:55.” 11:11.
As a sign-seeker, there is something in me that feels strongly that the Universe is trying to tell me something with all these 11:11s; but surely Dad cannot be trying to send a message about things like lunchtime and Project Runway. I thought briefly that perhaps he was encouraging us to go ahead with refinancing the house (another leap we took after getting a sign from the Universe, this time in the form of a dear friend who happened to come for dinner and tell us some things we didn’t know about refinancing just as we were starting to freak out about money), but the refinance went through and is finished, and I’m still seeing the 11:11s. Mom has money. My siblings are fine. We sent Bean a birthday present. There is nothing I can think of that Dad can be encouraging me to do, not do, redo, or otherwise think about.
So I’m left to conclude that maybe this sign isn’t for me. We’ve talked about this before, how sometimes the Universe gives you tools and skills that are irrelevant to your own interests, because someone else is going to need you to know them later; so maybe that’s what’s going on here. Maybe someone in my world–or someone in your world–needs a little nudge so that they’ll stay the course, chase a dream, stride forth boldly into the day, or ride out under a banner of world-changing excitement.
If that person is you, this one’s for you.
Dad was someone I turned to for comfort, so if you need comfort, here’s a sign that someone out there loves you and is keeping tabs on you.
Dad was someone who encouraged me to Get It Done, so if you’re not sure whether you should take the next step toward making yourself extra-awesome, the answer is Yes.
Dad was someone who took no b.s., no prisoners, and no excuses, so if you’re wondering whether this is a good time to kick the riffraff out of your life, the answer is “Be sure to bring a nice big box for all their stuff”.
In other words, this 11:11 is yours. Now take it and go change the world.