Sync'd

The Universe is speaking to us. Stories and lessons about how I am learning to listen.

"Synchronicity is an inexplicable and profoundly meaningful coincidence that stirs the soul and offers a glimpse of one's destiny."
— Phil Cousineau in Coincidence or Destiny?

Beached II

The last post spotlighted Miami Beach as a place destined to bring “me great joy” but it is also the location of a chain of impactful synchronicities. When these little, and sometimes large, nudges from the universe emerge, a pathway can unfold just like markers of a trail.

In late June of 2020 I was one month into adjusting from the end of a four-year relationship. My 57^th birthday was a month away and celebratory events can be tricky when grieving the separation from an intimate partner. I am not a celebration fanatic about my birthday, but it consider an important marker inspiring reflection about what is, isn’t and could be.

On a business trip to Houston, while having coffee in the hotel lobby, I took a quick moment to call my sister and get her thoughts about how to spend my 57^th. She was quick to suggest returning to Miami Beach even though my condo was sold in 2019. A recently purchased house in Fort Myers, Florida was occupied with a renter for a few more months before I could move in. There were stored possessions in Miami that would eventually need to be moved. She recommended spending a fun day in Miami Beach and renting a truck to move the Florida furnishing to Fort Myers. Pondering the idea as we disconnected, I moved through the lush but almost vacant hotel lobby to begin the workday. Walking by the only other person nearby who was sitting on an overstuffed leather sofa and engaged in a cell phone conversation, I heard him say, “yeah, I have a home in Fort Myers.” What are the odds? (Synchronistic thread #1)

By lunch time my flight was booked, hotel secured, and a cargo van reserved. This is when flights and cars were difficult to secure and expensive, but both were acquired effortlessly at bargain basement prices. Clearly the universe was lining up behind the trip. My plans for Miami Beach were quite simple. Breakfast with a friend, a workout at a favorite gym and a walk along the beach. The cargo van would be loaded by late afternoon and the night would be spent in Fort Myers.

With the positive synergy remaining as the weekend arrived, the flight was on time, and everything unfolded seamlessly as planned. Convenient parking was even found near the beach. Departing the gym, I tossed my shoes and shirt into van and headed for the world-renowned shoreline. The walk was long, and the beauty of the timeless salty surf was a soothing memory of my 1,000+ days in Miami Beach. Hunger for lunch set in and my plan was to eat at the Front Porch Cafe, a favorite spot on Ocean Drive. The perfect day in was almost shattered when the hostess refused to seat me without shoes and shirt. The restaurant is just off the beach, and I’ve eaten there dozens of times in a swimsuit. Walking away dejected and frustrated, lunch was being crossed off my list. Strolling by an adjacent outdoor restaurant at the Betsy Ross hotel, the Matre’d was standing along the sidewalk and I quickly asked, “would you serve me even though I’m just coming off the beach barefoot and shirtless?” He responded enthusiastically, “certainly!” I requested a table. (Synchronistic thread #2)

Before being seated, I asked to use the restroom, and he guided me into the busy lobby and directed me to the right, indicating I should take the next corridor to the left. Following the guidance, I took the first left and found myself in a long quiet hallway that didn’t feel like the path to the restroom. I stopped in front of the first door to my right and it was labeled as The Writers Room. It was an odd name for a meeting room, but I backed down the hall, took the next left and found the restroom (Synchronistic thread #3).

Returning to be seated, there were two narrow outdoor patios with five or six tables at each end of a larger service area in a central courtyard. He indicated lunch was being served on the smaller patios and headed toward the narrow patio with only one available table. As we got closer to the patio, I realized a few of the other dining guests would need to stand up to accommodate my passage to the table. To avoid disrupting people’s lunch, I suggested to the Matre’d that I be seated on the other patio with only a single guest dining at one table. He agreed, seating me right next to him. (Synchronistic thread #4)

After enjoying a simple lunch and an Amstel Light, I requested the bill. The waiter placed a folder holding the receipts for my review and stepped away. The total amount looked in order, but the itemized receipt wasn’t attached. In Miami Beach, most of the restaurants automatically add a gratuity and I didn’t know if it was added. (Synchronistic thread #5) Seeking clarification, I turned to the man lunching at the adjacent table and asked if he was staying at the hotel. Oddly, he answered, “sort of, why do you ask?” Sharing my tip confusion about the un-itemized receipt, he shrugged sharing, “they are hosting me in the Writers Room for a week and my meals are comped.” (Synchronicity thread #6) I quickly responded, “are you a writer? I was standing in front of the Writers Room just a few minutes ago.” He smiled and nodded with affirmation. I continued sharing that I was in the process of writing a memoir and had no idea what to do next … how to find an editor … whether to self-publish … if so, how … I had a dozen questions. Feeling emboldened, I offered to buy him a drink to pick his brain for guidance.

There is more! He agreed, and as it turned out, he was on the Board of Directors of a nonprofit called Grub Street with the mission of assisting new and struggling writers with their craft. (Synchronistic thread #7)

Grubb Street is an excellent resource. For a reasonable fee an adjunct professor teaching writing and literature at New York University (NYU) was engaged to edit the 256-page manuscript. She provided candid and thoughtful feedback. The memoir is not yet published. But the subtitle of my Substack posts, The Universe is speaking to us, stories and lessons about how I am learning to listen, is also the subtitle of my memoir, Dazzled. The editor also provided guidance on publishing and the manuscript was sent to several literary agents and one small publisher.

If any of the 7 synchronistic threads were broken the connection to the writer and Grubb Street couldn’t have emerged. I’m waiting on synchronistic thread #8 to discover if Dazzled is meant to live in the world as a memoir.