Meant to be...a Valentine's Day story of destiny

Do you believe in fate?   I have to confess that I grew up with a mystical great-grandmother who spoke of knowing things before they happened, saw the ghost of her dog and dead relatives, and showed me the “magic” in coincidences that, of course, were not accidents but destiny.  It’s no wonder that I get regular astrology readings and bury crystals in my yard.  More on that another day…

 

My one-armed, great-grandma Lina always had a cherry pie waiting for me

 

Kismet, for me, is my life.  Everything that has happened to me I believe was meant to be…the good and the bad.

 

The Japanese culture has a beautiful legend of destiny – the myth of the red string.  If you have not heard of it, the story goes like this:  every person has a red string connecting their pinky finger to the pinky finger of their soulmate.  This invisible string keeps the lovers connected to each other, no matter where they are in the world. So, even if time or circumstances separate the two souls, they will still be able to find their way back to one another.

 

Kismet means "Meant to Be"

 

I remember, as a little girl, having a sense that my soulmate was out there, somewhere.  I would wonder and daydream…What is he doing now?  Where does he live?  I would twist off the stem of my apple while reciting the alphabet, and believed whatever letter I landed on…well, it would be in my destined lover’s name.  I would concoct all sorts of rules and excuses to make the letter fit the name of my current crush.

 

I worked really hard on those bangs

 

Little did I know, that my “red string” was attached to a guy living in a tiny town of 10,000 people in no-where Missouri.  I lived in the San Francisco bay area.  I had never been to a Walmart, Cracker Barrel, or Sonic.  I listened to Depeche Mode, not White Snake.  I wore Guess jeans, not Wranglers.  He definitely was not in my “apple stem” daydreams.

 

Sorry, girls, he is all mine

 

But, then, who would have guessed that a girl from San Francisco would go to college in Nashville?  No one did that back then!  I think I was one of 5 people from California in the entire school.  My friends thought I was crazy.

 

Apparently, my kid's messiness comes from my side

 

I noticed him during the first couple weeks of freshman year.  We were in the study hall.  I was talking to an outgoing jokester that everyone knew already.  He was quietly sitting on the couch, observing. 

 

I was immediately intrigued and one day found myself chatting with him in his room.  He had a little nerf basketball hoop hooked over his closet door.  I blurted out, “if I make this basket, you owe me dinner!”  On the 4th try, I made it and I gave him my number.  I’d like to say the rest is history, but not quite…

 

My freshman dorm hallway...site of the infamous phone number exchange

 

I actually didn’t hear from him.  Shoot, I thought, I must have scared the guy.  Then one late night, there was all this ruckus in the hall outside my dorm room. I went out to see what was going on saw this completely intoxicated guy stumbling around with a couple of my hall mates.  He could barely talk or stand, but he looked at me and said, “You’re the ____ that gave my roommate the wrong number!”  I explained that I must have wrote the wrong number on accident and gave him a small piece of paper with my correct number on it.  I thought to myself, there is no way that drunk guy is even going to remember this, let alone give that little piece of paper to his roommate.  And there is REALLY NO WAY his roommate is going to call me now, even if he does get that little piece of paper.

 

 Well, I got a call the next day.  And NOW the rest is history. 

 

When mom jeans were an acceptable form of fashion

 

Big hair days

 

August 8, 1998

 

Coincidence?  I think not.   It’s Kismet…meant to be.  xoxo Lina

 

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