When the Universe Hears and Replies

Sometimes I feel like the universe doesn't hear my call. My wishes. My deep, dark wants, which feels like I am left without. But then sometimes the universe does hear---and it doesn't just hear, it replies. That's when I know I am fulfilled.

Such was true over the holiday weekend.

Memorial Day is a big deal for cemeteries in America. And because I'm employed by a large funeral home, which operates and is situated on the same grounds as a large cemetery, it means a big deal at work for me and my colleagues. It's a fun time. Truly.

It's a chance to get off the phone and out of the office, away from paperwork. Away from the intensity of grieving families who literally JUST lost a loved one, and instead out in the fresh air with (hopefully) sunshine; mingling among those who bring quiet, experienced reverence to their loves ones' final resting place.

Staff are divided into sections of the cemetery, and sent out on golf carts for ease of patrolling. We are armed with maps and a locator app, to guide visitors -- they number in the many thousands -- to an exact grave.

We take down service requests. We answer questions. We offer an ear.

I reflect, too.

On Sunday I thought about my dad a lot. He's been gone nine years this month.

On Monday the universe delivered to me three men, all about his age, each one alone. Because a companion or tag-along just wouldn't have fit the need.

Man One wore cargo shorts and a collared shirt, plus a newsboy cap. Just like my dad. He had a bit of a tummy pooch, too, just like my dad. He struggled to climb into the golf cart so I could give him a ride around the garden, the way my dad would have, all long and tricky limbs. He offered a calm, comfortable presence. My dad would have done that, too. And after we found the grave he was visiting, when we were parting ways, he placed his hand on my shoulder as a goodbye. It was such a dad thing to do.

Man Two smelled of a rich, masculine aftershave or cologne, like something my dad wore. I was so happy to breathe it in, little did he know.

Man Three gestured with his hands as he spoke. I was so happy to watch him from the corner of my eye, little did he know how much warmth those movements gifted me.

Just when I think the universe---God, really, that encompassing power and knowledge all around us---has gone quiet, it speaks.

It listens the whole time, and just waits for the right moment.

Sometimes, weirdly, the right moment happens in a cemetery.

I'm Just Tired

I don't know about you, but

I'm tired of being nice. I'm tired of being thoughtful and of offering consideration toward others, without receiving the same in return. I'm tired of being responsible, and productive, but also of not being able to do enough. I'm tired of being strong, and of doing so much on my own. Of pulling up my boot straps while knowing it's because I have no other choice.

I'm tired of smiling, and putting on a brave face. I'm tired of having to work so hard at my peace. I'm tired of having to work so hard at my assertiveness, where for others it comes so naturally; and of believing they benefit with no hesitation from the universe.

I'm tired of people who don't operate honestly or by integrity, getting (seemingly) everything they want in life---and of believing they benefit with no hesitation from the universe---while the rest of us work so hard to get the things we gain and yet still find certain bits of life lacking.

I'm tired of the cheats and liars and sociopaths we encounter every day, who take advantage and claim more than they deserve, and also hurt people in the process.

I don't know about you, but

I'm just tired.

I'm burned out at work, and at home. Burned out carrying more than my own load; working hard when others don't. Burned out with customer service. Burned out with meal planning and prep, with dirty dishes and laundry, both dirty and clean, and pet care. With car maintenance and commuting. Burned out here at the end of the school year, though it's my teens wrapping up their spring academics, not me. Burned out over being single, and with the hope of eventually not being single anymore. Burned out by disappointment.

I'm in a pitiful mood. Going through a rough patch. I know that's what it is, and that it'll turn around, but can't fix it yet. No one else can fix it, I know that, too.

No one wants to listen to their upbeat friend who normally has her shit together whine and complain.

I don't even want to hear me whine and complain. But I write it here, my internet safe-space established years ago, where I used to share without a second guess. This is where I used to write about the human condition.

I don't know about you, but

today's human condition for me is pretty pitiful.

In five days I'll embark on a week-long vacation from my day job. Home time. Project time. A chance to retreat, disconnect and decompress more than for just one evening or a Sunday, to find my reset button, and reboot.

I know my rough patch will turn around. It always does, after the pitiful wears away.

Maybe this time next month I won't be so tired.

Torn

Torn between hope

"Always expect something wonderful to happen"

and self-preservation

"The only way to be happy is to stop expecting anything from other people"

in perpetuity.