I’m a diehard romantic and apparently I’m picky. I don’t get what the one has to do with the other, and most of the time I really don’t care. I like most romantic comedies, even if there’s a ninety-percent chance I’ll predict the entire movie before it’s over. When I’m surprised, I love it. When I’m blown away, I’ve fallen in love.
Music is one of those things that seems to capture the moment the moment I’m feeling it. There’s always a song playing, whether on my headphones or the radio or on the ring tones of the classmate who never turned off their phone, that just in a few verses, in a single melody, can sum up life in a matter of seconds.
Then there’s those times when I’m standing at the white board, three markers of three different colors in my hands as I try to solve a determinant in some new way to check my other answer, and I see how it’s supposed to work out in the end, but I can be fairly certain that I’ve made a careless mistake in my algebra somewhere because, very clearly, it won’t add up correctly. And yet I see it all at a once. The answer is right before me. It always is.
I thought I was going to be thankful for love today. But it seems like fate’s had its own way again.
I was a staunch supporter of astrology as a young boy. Coupled with all my textbooks for English and arithmetic, and science and social studies, was a large purple tome rightly titled “The Only Astrology Book You’ll Ever Need.” I pored over it like a chef over a recipe, a scientist over a data set, or a man in love over his beloved. The words swam in my veins and the symbols reflected in my eyes even when I looked away. The stories within explained the world without, and when I looked closer into the tome, I saw deeper into myself.
Now when I meet someone, I always have the urge to read their stars and see what the planets were saying when they were born. But unless asked to make a chart, I don’t look into the heavens of the people closest to me. It’s too easy an invasion of privacy. Why should I know them better than they know themselves? I shouldn’t, so despite all my curiosity, I keep the book shut most of the time these days. Its knowledge can too easily corrupt.
It’s non-scientific, but I still believe the alignment of the world at the time of one’s birth does have an influence upon them. Maybe, as was proposed in my sociology class, it only has meaning because as a culture we invest meaning in it, but I can’t forget how precisely it described every facet of me when I read through my own chart. Sure, some in psychology might say vague sentences can be taken to mean anything, and as far as astrology goes, that’s how anything’s accurate–but I believe that’s not true, or at least not wholly true. The phenomenon is there, and certainly applies for commercial horoscopes, but for a chart, there’s no denying it’s too specific to be coincidental.
That perhaps is one such striking moment of synchronicity: When things align perfectly so that it stops being chance and becomes predestination. Such as yesterday, when on my way to physics I saw our club advisor, or the other day when I just ran into everybody I knew, or that time when things just fell into place.
The most amazing synchronicity occurs when friends, separated by millions of miles (or a significant figure less, depending on your chosen path of measurement), can be found so flawlessly intertwined that it’s like they’ve known each other forever, or that they’re certain without doubt that they’ll always be together.
I have a small number of friends I share this special closeness with, pockmarked in various places all around the world. I can always count on them being there. I always know that they’re with me, that somehow somewhere we’re all whirring on the same frequency. Some say it’s indigo, I say it’s spectacular. What else could it be?
I feel I’m being very incoherent, and I know the moment I post this I’ll think of an even better way of speaking about synchronicity, but let’s face it: It’s one of those things that you realize in hindsight, that you only appreciate when all is said and done. It’s the revelation on the last page that makes all the clues come together; it’s the finale of LOST when everything actually makes perfect sense after six years of perpetual confusion. It’s the credits rolling while you sit in seats thinking, “I’ve never seen a movie better than this.”
You know it when you experience it. It’s synchronicity.
And trust me: When it all comes together, there’s nothing better.