If you have read my stories and essays in the past, you have probably gathered that I believe strongly and unquestionably in fate. I also love talking about this, because it inevitably leads to stimulating and intense conversation. Ironically, a conversation about the predictability of life that is fate can lead to constantly unpredictable topics. Whether we want to admit it or not, we all have an opinion in this matter, and coming to terms with how we all come to this says so much about us.
I am now, and have always been, horrible at understanding anything relating to science. The formulaic process behind it grinds against my creativity and lack of process like unlubricated gears under the hood of a car. When I was forced to think about science in high school and college, I literally could feel my brain shorting out, similar to when your laptop’s cooling fan suddenly kicks into full speed. This makes it all the more astonishing that my belief in fate comes off a tad scientific. When we look at ourselves alone, the notion of fate is impossible to understand because there is nothing to compare ourselves to. We have no foiling sidekick, and no lavish set to act out this play. If our world was simply “ourself”, free will would certainly reign, but nothing would happen because there would be no choices to make, no actions to do. When we zoom out on our Google Map of existence, the acts of fate become far more obvious. Relationships, choices, and actions become visible, and more importantly the repercussions are easier to see. I think people have a skewed view of us believers in destiny, like everything is epic and dramatic like a never-ending episode of “LOST”. The moments that cause us to keep each other on course are the ones that we probably see as irrelevant at the time: opening a door for somebody, smiling at a stranger, wearing boxers instead of briefs one day. We are unaware of the nudges and pushes in destiny because we lack the bird’s eye view, the ability to watch it all unfold like a game of “Risk” or a recently disturbed ant hill.
The aforementioned argument gets all the more interesting when you talk about who has that bird’s eye view. I would call him or her “God”, a declaration that makes this all the easier or less easy to understand, depending on who you are. I think I really confuse people when I tell them I came to my belief in how fate works not through any Christian values, but through finding places on earth where we as people gain access to that divine bird’s eye view. I imagine a piano, its 88 lonely keys waiting for hands to play them. I imagine a downtown skyline at night, with thousands of lit and unlit windows. I imagine miles of red, orange, and yellow leaves, falling one by one as the wind delivers their beautiful, fatal blow. I imagine a snow globe, waiting, begging, and pleading for that one shake that will bring it to life.
The one thing that all of these have in common is a catalyst, a larger force that puts the sedentary into motion. Pianos have pianists, cities have sleep, trees have the wind, and snow globes have us. Every time we catalyze that snow globe by shaking it, we begin the destinies of each and every one of those snowflakes. Life is short, so fragile, and yet so meaningful. What a wonderful thought, that somebody not only holds us and cradles us, but shakes us as well.