If I had to pick between hope and serendipity, I’d go for the latter. I can only think of one reason why: I feel stuck. I feel caught up, and there’s no fancy way of putting it.
When I have these I’m-never-going-to-make-it-here episodes, chances are I’m playing with what little hope I have. I don’t see this as borderline pessimism; I see it as an instance or a fact that makes me “me.” And when I stay true to myself, to every fiber that makes up my soul, I never really feel down and empty.
But then again, this doesn’t add gold coins in my little pocket of hope. In such a circumstance, that thing called hope remains what it is: abstract and untouchable.
In the middle of it all, I’m still not left empty-handed. “All is not lost,” some people say. Most cliches don’t work on me, but this one is an exception.
In the moment when all roads point to being stuck, in the moment when every criticism, insult, and half-baked promise and compliment stings, a ray of sunshine creeps through my bare corner. It is serendipity saying a warm and hearty hello.
It wishes to remind me that I can and should move forward even if I’m stuck in a bubble that refuses to pop. Unlike hope, serendipity bursts with a refreshing element of surprises, twists, and turns. And this is exactly what I need and want.
I’m broken, yes — in ways that even tears can’t capture fully sometimes. Right here and right now, I’m just grateful that a little phenomenon called serendipity came knocking at my door.