If I had a nickel for every time my family rolls their eyes when I say, “trust the universe,” I guess I’d just have a pile of nickels, given that their value wouldn’t get me too far in these inflation-riddled times.
However, I do. Trust the universe, that is. And I find as I grow older I do so particularly in times of transition, planned and not.
First, what do I mean by the phrase? As one who bristles at the notion that “everything happens for a reason,” what’s the distinction with “trust the universe?” To me, the first signals some kind of master plan that we don’t impact with our own energy and actions. The latter philosophy acknowledges the interaction with our own choices, which hopefully are more and more informed by the wisdom that comes from lived experience.
To get even more “woo-woo” about it, the “for a reason” approach seems to me to unfold outside of one’s own existence. The “trust” way is one’s existence, because we are all part of the universe.
I have lots of cynical and quite funny friends from the political world who will say reading this, as one recently did, “Ginny, I think you’ve lost your edge.” Maybe so. Or perhaps, maybe I’ve gained it?
In my family, we are undergoing a huge transition at an unusual time. With family and friends around us planning for retirement and winter escapes as their nest empties, my husband recently announced a major career change. He didn’t seek a new opportunity, but when presented it made total sense, even if the decision to give up his current role wasn’t an easy one. We look at each other in wonder and gratitude — who gets to start an entirely new fascinating career in their 60s — and trust that this is all unfolding as it should. Well, I do, anyway — he’s grounded in things he can touch and see, leaving all this universe talk to me.
When I was a kid I had a framed print of the 1927 poem “Desiderata” by Max Ehrmann on my wall. I probably have mentioned it before in these columns because I have come to believe that its message — even more than one writer’s assertion about what you learned in kindergarten — is actually all you need to know.
“Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace can be found in silence.”
“As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons.”
“Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.”
There are many other pearls of wisdom in Ehrmann’s words, but these most of all inform my trust in transitions, be they positive or hard:
“You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars … and whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.”
There are plenty of times when I’ve questioned this, thought it unlikely, even false. Holding on to my belief that everything will be OK — just another way of saying trust the universe — isn’t easy, when things are not going well, or are fraught and painful.
Yet, I’ve come to believe that when I look back some day, things will have worked out. And these final words from “Desiderata” will ring true — “With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.”
