Do You Believe in Signs??
Sometimes I feel I get a bit to caught up in the meaning, but if they aren't signs meant for me, then why does it all make so much sense??
I have always believed that my life was magical in the most mundane ways. I previously wrote about my mindset change from focusing on trying to find reasons for everything. I realized I will drive myself mad trying to understand the past, ultimately we must release what we cannot control. I can find meaning though, that’s actually something I am very good at. Too good maybe. It could be the OCD-ishness1.
I love my friends so incredibly deeply, it’s a lot. I am so proud of my family, even when they do the tiniest things. But they do amazing things, they are just unbelievably humble. They are also human, they teach me so much about myself and it is so annoying. I am grateful for them though. I see angel numbers and listen to what my gut is telling me. I listen to the lyrics of a song on the radio and feel the message so deep within me I want to write a thesis about it.
Did you ever see that movie “The Number 23” with Jim Carrey? When that movie came out I watched it, like, five times in a weekend. It was so interesting, everything meant something and it all made perfect sense. Besides obviously the psychosis, but add whimsy. It was such a comforting concept in a world that was so chaotic and confusing; especially when I was a child, I was lost so much of the time. So, watching that movie I envied the idea that I just had to find my number and do all the adding and bing-bang-boom the world will translate to ElizaKels lingo and all will be good.
Life is not like the movie 23. Sadly. There is no magical, anything, that makes it all make sense because that’s the whole point. It’s so funny to me when I see people asking “How do you keep going once you realize nothing matters”, the nihilist mentality. In my mind, when nothing matters magic takes over.
Life is a giant playground. A lump of clay just waiting to be molded, into what, it doesn’t matter! Just play, put your fingers in it and squeeze. Punch it, rub it, hug it. Just do something with it, it is such a fucking gift. This life is a miracle in this world. I have come into so much peace by just accepting exactly where I am. In building my castles with my mind in the backyard.
It really helps when I keep getting little glimmers from whatever to keep going, keep along my path, or get the fuck off this path now silly goose and realign!
My husband tells me I personify things way too much, but I think everything is…energy deserving of recognition. I have named almost all the spiders on my back porch. For those who have been here awhile Charlotte is doing fabulous, Ursula however has relocated after a big storm and I have not yet come across her. I am terrified to run into her without knowing. It helps me find this meaning. Now, the thing I am most scared of, actually number 7 on the list, is teaching me lessons. You should have seen the wood spiders in the front lawn lecturing me on perspective the other morning during our musings. Silly spiders are too smart for their own good. People need to start taking the time to listen to what they have to say, it really is profound.
I have to have my volume on an odd number. If I have any control over the numbering of ANYTHING it will be an odd number. Because when I was a kid and I learned that they were called “odd” numbers and no one would play math with them (translation: a lot of them were prime so couldn’t be divided). I made it a point of my life, that I still honor, to give the odd number of the world the love they deserve. It used to be a much more OCD-ish type control thing, but today I can allow someone to set the volume to “22” and not spend the entire rest of the car ride trying to find an excuse to touch the knob, had to be sneaky though so they wouldn’t pick up on my discomfort.
I would probably be deemed clinically insane if I really went into some of the things I have interpreted as signs for myself. Is it still crazy if the signs are always good? Or at least that they always mean that I am safe even if scary things happen.
333.3333
If you ever have the chance to drive across country you will realize something as you drive past the endless billboards lining America’s highways; you’ll notice that almost every city has the same buzz numbers, if you will. For example in Springfield, Missouri when you use their area code and the number 333.3333 you will be contacting a taxi service. In San Diego, California the same repeated number will bring you to King Aminpour, attorney at law, lover of gold.
For those who don’t know, angel numbers are repetitive numbers that you see in life. Many people believe they are messages from our angels giving us divine guidance. Some people fixate on what they mean, me I am much more of a go with your gut kind of sign interpreter.
When I first noticed this specific number I was driving through Missouri on my cross country move with my two dogs, on my own. At the time I was experiencing a miscarriage and 1,000 miles away from my spouse. I was going through a pain I had never experienced, alone. And I kept seeing that fucking number. On billboards, buses. In the ER waiting room as I attempted to process my loss I just kept staring at a poster with that fucking number on it.
Naturally, being young and new on my spiritual journey, I was terrified. This number was an omen
.Imagine how I felt moving into my new apartment when I made it to SD only to see that FUCKING number had followed me. Now in the form of an ambulance chaser. What worse could possibly happen?
I wondered that for months. When is the “San Diego 3” going to unleash its harm on me…I couldn’t really let myself settle into my new home because this fear loomed over me every second of everyday. Eventually, something clicked in me. I realized that I had been looking at it all wrong. So, so wrong.
333.3333 wasn’t some bad omen that meant horrible things were coming, it was a sign that horrible things may happen, but I am not alone and I will get through. It’s like my own personal super angel number.
That’s the cool thing about these messages, these signs: we get to decide what they mean. We get to give them purpose, and to me to have purpose is to survive.
Sandra-Dee
It’s early morning and I am headed to secret beach. The beautiful piece of secret beach is the secretive. So imagine my frustration when I turned the corner around the final boulder marking our path to paradise, just to find a woman sprawled in the sand, much like I was planning on being, minding her business and searching for tiny treasures. Sometimes the world is so unfair.
Luckily as I approached I was able to notice she was rather distracted in her quest so I was able to sneak past without being noticed. Or so I thought until I heard, “Excuse me!” being called from behind me. Nightmares do come true. I turned around and stamped the social smile on my face, ready to say a quick “Hi” and make it very clear I am here on a walk, not to be bothered. However, as usual when you’re a clinically chronic people pleaser like me, as I opened my mouth out came pleasantry after pleasantry.
It isn’t always a bad thing, my uncontrollable friendliness. Though it does open me up to be a victim. My best friend used to muse that if I ever go missing she knows how they got me in the van: they lost their dog. Yup, in a heart beat I would climb right in, yessir. This particular morning on the beach I ended up very grateful for my annoying need to connect, it brought me to Sandy.
I am going to interject here for a moment to tell you the story of my dear friend, Devan and her mother.
Devan grew up with me in my tiny town of Marcellus, New York. Population: just over 6,000. Churches to service population: innumerable. It was a…quaint town. My feelings about my hometown are mixed and confusing, however, my feelings about the people who loved me all the way out of there, I love. Devan is one of those people.
One of the most special pieces of my friendship with Devan was my friendship with her mother, Sandy. Sandy and her husband had adopted Devan and a lot of the time I wished Sandy would adopt me.
My mother is a great mom, I am not slanting her. I think we all had women besides our moms who we wanted to be ours. The grass is always greener. Something my mother lacked in was the praise department. It was much more of a sarcastic and joking tone in my household and I craved to be supported in deeper ways. Sandy knew how to listen. She didn’t hold a grudge, she laughed when I messed up and helped me clean it up. I trusted Sandy.
The summer before our senior year of high school Sandy died. She had fought cancer and she had lost. It was one of my first deaths, my first young deaths. Expected, but still too soon. I remember it vaguely, it was a very foggy time. I didn’t know it at the time but I was deeply depressed, so my memories from high school are blurry at times. Even huge moments like this. Or maybe I have tried to edit it out of my memories and was successful at some point. I have a feeling the years of alcohol abuse helped cover up a lot more than I know.
Following Sandy’s death Devan and I drifted apart. We are both remarkably private feelers, something that we have never had to explain to each other. When her mom died she took her path and it lead her on a beautiful journey, as mine did for me. In 2022 we reconnected. It had been almost 9 years since we last spoke and we FaceTimed on separate coasts without a lick of awkwardness. No…resentment, no competition, no judgement. It’s one of those friendships that require nothing and you can trust will always allow you forgiveness. A growingly rare trait, I fear. We caught up on life, we cried about past and current hardships. We filled each other in on the past decade we missed. The love flowed so freely that I left that conversation feeling that exhilarating sensation that only a true connection can bring, like following a real good first date. A natural high.
After this rekindling of our friendship we continued to make monthly calls a regular habit for awhile, until life started getting in the way as it does. However, that connection has remained open this time with the space and we continue to try to stay caught up and to make time for each other.
A couple weeks ago I received a message from Devan, I had shared that I was starting to be lost about what to do with my buzzcut grow out. My cowlicks are wild it turns out so it sticks up like crazy. Devan reached out after I shared the insecurities I was feeling to tell me that when she looked at me right now she saw her mother.
I don’t think words had ever meant so much to me.
Sandy was the definition of a loving, supportive mother, plus she was a badass, strong as fuck human being. To be compared to Sandy Landers…I never have to question myself again. I am so incredibly grateful for Devan and that she shared her mother with me. It is a gift I don’t know how to put into words.
Back to the beach in 2024.
So, I casually start bantering with this woman and it…evolves.
Like my reconnecting with Devan, I felt that natural high of true, authentic human connection. God, it is my favorite rush.
She told me she was visiting Lake Erie from West Virginia. She does it a few times a year to get some respite from caring for her mother, a 24 hour job that her and her husband share. As a nurse with a background in geriatric care I commended her on ability to know that she is deserving, as well as needing, of a break from being a caregiver. It is something that so many are unable to receive or they don’t prioritize and yet it is possibly the most important aspect of being a caregiver. As cliché as it is, you cannot pour from an empty cup. I shared a couple stories from my days in the trenches, something I don’t speak about much anymore. I forgot how much I loved my residents; remind me to tell you all about Irene someday, she’s the reason I am married.
She asked me how I knew about secret beach and I explained my friend lived nearby. She told me of the cute motel she stays in when she comes up. We laughed and joked. She told me how pretty West Virginia is. We even quipped about how different our generations are and the world is between her experience at my age and mine. And alike we are.
And how it doesn’t fucking matter and we all just need to chill the absolute fuck out and stop taking ourselves so damn seriously.
Look at me, I’m Sandra-Deeeee
Perspective Man, It is Everything
One message, three ways:
Scary Spider Signs—
3 shots, 1 predator lying in wait, 3 horses in a barn Perhaps you are thinking, “dear god enough with the spiders lady”; to you I say, frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn. They have truly changed me this summer. I cannot believe how I look at them and instead of instinctualy feeling a deep rooted fear, I feel curiosity. Hope, the spider’s have given me so much hope. If I can find beauty in my fears, there is hope that others can find beauty in theirs. Especially when we fear each other. Maybe this world can heal.
Slimy Slug Signs—
How many slimy friends do you see? I began embracing the slugs recently as well. I figured why not face one more fear before the summer ends and it is time to prepare for hibernation. I was having a fabulous time photographing them, not a fear in the world. Honestly it was way easier than the spiders. So I am taking these close ups of this cutie slug when I realize that there were two. Then I looked back and there were four. Then I stood up and realized that the rain the night prior had actually, apparently brought out all of the slugs from everywhere and I was surrounded. I was standing on them. They were everywhere.
This reminded me not to always jumped right in 100%, it is good to keep going, but keep my pace, my pace.
Sneaky Shore Signs—
I don't think a Lake Erie sunset will ever get old, and if I say it does, someone please slap me I have spoken repeatedly, even above, about secret beach. Well both it and the other local beaches around are very rocky. Not the sandy beaches like the coastal areas. Maybe I just forgot this fact about lakes. I think I forgot that I love lakes if I am being honest. Well, the shores of Lake Erie are very rocky. Unless, you come right after a storm. The high winds and waves kicks up sand from the lake bed and it is brought to the shores, covering the rocks. So someone who came to visit the lake for one day would come and think, “hey what a nice sandy beach”. If they got out of their car and walked along it they may notice the closer they got to the water, the looser the sand became, allowing you to feel rocks beneath your feet. But if they never gave the beach the chance they would never know. Which means they also would miss out on the sea diamonds scattered all along the beach. The precious glass emeralds, rubies, and sapphires. It is worth it to look deeper. To stop and get out of the car and explore the sand beach. To allow my toes to get buried by the tide and wiggle around in the rocks below. I think I have been driving past a lot of beaches lately without looking deeper. Fuck I am grateful for the sandy shores of the lake.
I say “OCD-ishness” because I am in the middle of a mental health journey and right now diagnoses are vague and conceptual for myself and my team. Obsessiveness and compulsiveness are big yeses in my mental health symptom checklist in some capacity though.