Originally published by The Clifton Courier February 13, 2019

How do you know if the universe is sending you a message or if you’re just overthinking?

We’ve all heard the saying “everything happens for a reason”. It’s advice most often dealt out in the fallout of the heavy, but not devastating, blows that come with life. Breakups. Failed job hunts. An adorable illegitimate child turning up on your doorstep unexpectedly.

Of course, I’m speaking through the prism of movies and television. Because in the world of film, literally everything happens for a reason. Besides the occasional extra accidentally breaking continuity with a changing pony tail or dangling boom mic, pretty much everything is meticulously planned. The emotionally-charged misplaced letter doesn’t fall out of a forgotten book until the right moment. A bus that speeds by at the exact moment someone steps on to a road without looking. A certain song that comes on the radio during a cab ride to the airport.

Everything happens for a reason.

Whether it’s a signal something dark is coming or an opportunity for an emotionally-stunted hero to grow as a person, neither the occurrences of events and the symbolism surrounding them are accidental.

And when you nourish yourself on a diet of Hollywood sap like me, it’s easy to believe the same laws apply to life. You begin to a see a pattern in the universe*.

* And you see mundane, innocuous events as signs that you should do something. It can be as big as leaving your old life behind and taking on a new career, or something equally as big as deciding what kind of takeaway will best satisfy your incredibly complex needs.

Which is why, when my teacup devastatingly cracked all the way through the other day, I was extremely concerned.

Not just because this meant the soup-bowl-sized mug I’d loved was now useless, but because such a dramatic event clearly meant something more.

I mean, the cup didn’t just crack, it split. The once-full mug was empty in two seconds, with tea spilling everywhere. And the noise was more than the fracturing of mass-produced ceramics; it was the unmistakable splintering of earthbound objects touched by mysterious forces transcending the realms*.

* For whatever reason, these mysterious forces don’t seem to have voices. And that’s great, because a creepy voice telling my not to drink a cup of tea would leave my on the edge of a nervous breakdown. Nope, it’s better that they deal out vague signs instead. Although, you could argue that these mysterious forces might actually have a way to clearly communicate exactly the message they’re trying to get through, but like to mess with us. I mean, it would keep things interesting. I don’t know if mysterious forces have Netflix subscriptions, so they have to do something for entertainment. 

Of course, my mind went straight to an interventionist cosmic power or a spirit who might be trying to tell me something by splitting that cup.

I considered whether it was a sign from the universe that I should not drink that cup of tea and instead drink water. Or perhaps it meant that I wasn’t supposed to drink anything at all because I could get stuck in a lift for an hour and really, really need to wee. Like, the universe could have been acting on my behalf, telling me not to fill my bladder so that I don’t have to substitute a water bottle for a toilet or emerge from a high-profile rescue situation dripping with my own urine.

Or it could have been warning me to take caution that day. Perhaps it was an omen telling me that bigger, more disturbing cracks were in my future.

I couldn’t tell.*

* I mean, you can never tell exactly what these special cosmic messages mean. It’s always open to interpretation. It’s never a direct “oi, you’re going to spill spaghetti on yourself today, take preventative measures”. It’s more cryptic.  Like, instead of coming out and warning you, it might force a fleck of toothpaste to fall on your pyjama shirt as a minty omen of things to come. 

Of course, another thought crossed my mind. It was the thought echoing an old, wry woman who always has a martini in her hand and rattles off the cutting insults you need to hear (she’s wearing a Channel suit, because if I’m going to have an imaginary sassy grandma, she’s going to be well dressed and look like Jane Fonda).

That thought: are you really that special?

And Grandma Jane has a point: the idea that the universe is taking a vested interest in me, just me, when there’s millions of other people on the planet is a little egocentric. And the whole notion that whatever all-knowing force responsible for everything around us would have time in its busy schedule of keeping the planet spinning and coaxing seedlings out of the dirt and sprinkling enough drama into the lives of the women of the Real Housewives – you know, keeping the world in order for the greater good – to meddle with my meaningless existence is, admittedly, mildly deluded. The existence of a helpful spirit who cares enough to leave guiding hints to keep me on the path of comfortable middle-classness is probably wishful thinking.

* And hey, you cold say that all this thinking that bad things happen purely to direct you to the right path takes away a lot of responsibility of life. Like, you can’t go blaming your burnt toast or totally-preventable infection on the universe, when it was your actions that lead to these things happening. I can’t imagine abandoning your own personal responsibility and letting the universe take the wheel is a good way to live life. It can’t end well. 

So I simply tossed the mug, whipped out another and poured myself a new cup of tea.

The only real effect of the cosmic crack was a distinctive mug-shaped hole in the kitchen cabinet.

But here’s the kicker: last weekend I was given a novelty teacup for FebMas, which would not have fit in the cupboard if the other mug were still there. Read into that what you will.