Destiny

I burned my hand on the stove. Twenty minutes of pain. Waiting for it to fade it didn’t.

So I got up, and found a bag of cookies with gluten I shouldn’t have. I ate them. They were delicious. And for ten minutes, my finger stopped hurting. But then… I felt guilty. And the burn came back slow.

That’s how it is. One move eases the fire, another move feeds the desire, and I’m back in the hunger, back in the ache, caught in the cycle, mistake after mistake.

Like when I wanted chicken. But the restaurant gave me barely enough for 20 bucks! Music blasting, the vibe was rough. The other place looked better, but the left turn was blocked, no U-turn allowed, just loops around the block.

Round and around, hungry, unsound, searching for an entrance, nowhere to be found.

That’s how it is with destiny too. You think it’s perfect, meant to be true, and then it slips sideways, falls right through.

For example: I wanted to go to Burning Man. The epic click, the portal where I’d meet my new juicy connection, where the sparks would stick.

Move to Europe, new life, new land. That’s where it happened for my friend — that’s where she met her husband.

Maybe I was jealous… I won’t admit it though. But the path wouldn’t open. I tried, it said no.

But instead, I had to take the wedding. It didn’t feel right to say no. The road bent there. The flight was booked. Something about it all felt right, and I wasn’t going to force it otherwise.

I wanted to be with Jason too. Not his real name, but it’ll do. Cute, sweet, everything I thought I wanted in a relationship. Almost.

But when I sat in it — gaps everywhere, offness humming beneath the sweetness. So I ended it. Another U-turn. Another missed fit.

And here I am. Hungry again. Not for chicken — but for deep connection.

For connection. For friendship. For a life that flows. Creative projects so epic they glow.

A home where I can rest, and actually feel at home in my chest.

For a destiny flow that clicks into place, arranges the puzzle with elegance, and grace.

But when there’s not enough chicken, and you’re left driving in circles, lonely from a breakup, and the festival you thought you wanted, you can’t.

It’s me. Standing in the ache, feeling the burn. Saying no when it’s off. Another hard turn.

Staying in the gap. Noticing how it feels. Refining, refining, till the offness reveals what’s real.

Not running for quick fixes. Not the “finally, this is it.” The connection. The home. The festival. The project.

Maybe destiny is: Choosing what feels a little better. Saying no to what feels amiss.

Maybe I don’t need to import strawberries from another land. Maybe the fruits and vegetables I need are already in my hand.

It’s just a matter of tending them. Growing them. Trimming the weeds. Watering the seeds.

Piecing them together, slow but clever, into a masterpiece of life, I can savor forever.

Sometimes it feels like destined perfection. Sometimes it feels like mistake after mistake, pieces that don’t fit, choices that don’t stick.

But most times, it feels like both. And it gets better, piece by piece.

Every little no, every little yes, it gets better.

And the garden of destiny grows more beautiful.