For years, my numerologist has been telling me to stop bossing God. You know, turn it over to the Universe. Visualize how I want to feel and let go of the outcome. Allow. Let go and let God. My mantra for 2020: “In the spirit of surrender and adventure, without expectations or control, I invite the miracles of The Universe to me.” After years of studying and practicing this principle and living 6 bazillion life examples, you’d think I’d get it.

I’m digesting all manner of material these days that’s telling me this is a time for reflection. To decide what we want to take with us to the other side of this pandemic and what we want to let go of to create more joy. I’ve taken quite well to the extra time to read, listen to podcasts, journal, and leisurely plan menus and cook. I’ve even taken to pulling a few weeds and deadheading flowers. I’ve picked every, single, cherry tomato from our spindly potted plant the day it reddens. Mostly, I eat them standing on the patio. I’ve learned to cherish chats with my neighbors during daily walks, the occasional forays to the woods for a hike, picnics, bike rides, and mostly, the all-too-infrequent visits with kids and Lily.

But there is a problem. The Universe has not provided a way–that I deem safe–to visit the two kids who live the farthest away (Denver and Phoenix) and Adi. Weeks back, I decided to instruct the Universe in how we might accomplish this task. This story begins with the three words with which many of my life stories begin: My plan was . . .

We could buy a camper of some sort so we could drive to Denver and Phoenix toting our own bedroom, bathroom and kitchen. Something petite and cute. Problem solved. Mind you, BF has floated the idea of cross-country RVing since we became a thing almost 2 decades ago. I have been adamant in refusing to understand why one would drive a house around when there are so many sweet B&B’s and Marriott Residence Inns dotting the countryside. It just took an pandemic.

I even offered the financial pathway for The Universe to provide. I have a cute, little sportscar I no longer need. The very vehicle I suggested we drive across the country to all those B&B’s. So we’d simply sell Tina (that’s my sportscar’s name) and use the money to buy an RV or camper trailer, or even easier, the owner might want to trade. Simple.

We found a camper in Ohio. Older, but well maintained and spotless. Smaller. In our price range. To my surprise, the man had zero interest in a trade so we printed a For Sale sign and parked Tina where her new owner could find her. You will never understand my level of disappointment when we checked in with the guy a few weeks later only to find some asshole from Pennsylvania was driving our camper. Probably going to see his kids. I was crushed.

I rebounded. There is something better out there. I trust the Universe. I have ALWAYS been taken care of. Provided for.

This morning was my tipping point. I told BF I felt like I was stuck in a box frantically kicking the sides and it wouldn’t open. Later, in what she thought would be a quick morning phone check-in, I tearfully told Jessica I felt like a little girl whose daddy promised her a tricycle and she thought, later that day, when they headed out to Walmart, it was to buy that tricycle. But it wasn’t.

The picture above is me at 3 1/2 years old with my tricycle. I was provided for just as I always have been and always will be. I know this.

Sigh. Without expectations or control . . .