Kismet of writing
Call it fate, call it luck, call it karma
kis·met
ˈkizmit,-ˌmet/
noun
destiny; fate.
“what chance did I stand against kismet?”
Do you think that there’s such a thing as fate? A predetermined path? The thing that was meant to be, unless we changed our minds because free will?
Sometimes when I have a moment of déjà vu, like I’m remembering a dream that I had before, I think that maybe I’m feeling this because I knew it was going to happen. That I dreamt of my future, that I somehow caught a glimpse of the trajectory I was on. I dreamt it and it was meant to be.
Many religious and spiritual traditions believe that the soul lies outside of the human concept of time and space, that the soul wanders when we sleep, that it can travel to meet with loved ones who have died before us, that because it sees all of time, it can warn us or share prophesy, or guide us and support us while we dream. That dreams are often visions may be of the future that lies ahead.
I don’t believe that any future is 100% set in stone, but maybe that we get ourselves on trajectories — that if we continue down a certain path, the likelihood of a specific event or personal change becomes extremely high. Unless of course there are certain factors that get in the way — natural disasters and bad bosses, for example.
Someone once told me that it seemed like it was pretty close to fate that I would become a writer. That it just seemed meant to be. Fate. Kismet?
I could always stop writing.
I could always just stop. I can quit anytime I want. I could never again put pen to paper or blog my heart out or finish this 100 Days of Writing Challenge. I could drop out of school and run away to Canada and become a logger. I could do lots of things.
But I’m not going to stop writing because I like it too much. Hell, I love it. I love it with every fiber of my being. It sharpens me, focuses me, stretches me. It challenges me and makes me dig deeper. Inspiration comes to me in dreams in fragments and disjointed thoughts; strange feelings and fractured narratives. It’s a way to tap into something bigger than myself. To celebrate the ancient tradition of storytelling. To fulfill the human need to share experience though narration. To elevate the hearts and minds of others. To soothe my own soul.
Writing is only my fate if I chose it to be. Which I do.
Unless of course I end up logging in British Columbia. I’ll keep you posted.
