Serendipity

In terms of human experience, this week has covered much of the gamut. I had a rigorous internal debate about delving into personal matters for blog content, as the social media phenomenon of airing one's dirty laundry is a vulgar practice I'd prefer to steer well clear of. I'm also, despite all outward appearances, a fairly private person when it comes to matters of personal emotional context. Perhaps my biggest concern is one of causing discomfort: I know what it's like, when a friend tells you their bad news and you're stuck in a moment of awkwardly fumbled responses because there's simply nothing awesome to say. It's a universal characteristic of the human condition that at key milestones in life (the good and the bad) words are suddenly woefully inadequate to express the range of human emotion present in a moment.

But I chose to write about this because it's ultimately, I think, a positive story.

A beloved uncle passed away this week. It was, like all loss, a sad and emotional time, particularly for my father and his family who not too long ago lost their dad. I was honoured with the task of being a pallbearer at my uncle's funeral (the second time I'd done it; the first was at my grandfather's passing) and for some reason - many reasons I don't want to delve into here - I almost broke. I don't mean cried, I did that. What I mean is, there was a moment there where something in me became enraged, furious at the world for all the sickness and death in it, and I came very near to a breaking point that would have been ugly and horrible and mean spirited: An outpouring of frustration and grief that no one would have deserved or should witness, targeted at no one and everyone because I lacked a target to lay blame upon; blame for circumstances, blame for unfairness, blame for the awful tragedy that life comes to an end.

But then something incredible happened. Or something normal that was made incredible by the circumstances surrounding it. Serendipity.

Standing in the cold afternoon shadows at the cemetery, waiting for the interment service to begin, my attention was drawn to a flock of fifty or so pink Galahs that flew around the perimeter of the cemetery and then settled in a tree. It was only a mild distraction at first, but then a second, and third, and fourth flock flew in. Soon they became too may to count. Hundreds of birds, one flock after another, all quietly circling the cemetery until they found a place to land in the suddenly crowded branches. With barely a sound, they 'watched', and if their number hadn't seemed unusual, their silence certainly did.

And then when the service was done, and as my uncle was interred to the Earth, the entire flock - with barely a sound - took wing as one and coasted upon the breeze into the winter afternoon.

I'm sure many people at the service saw nothing more than a flock of birds doing what birds do. But for me, this was something I needed to see: A moment of serendipity, where apparent random circumstances, in meeting at the right place and the right time, create something far greater and more important than a roll of causal dice. My rage and frustration just dropped away, and what was left was a manageable sadness, tempered with contentment and a sense of purpose, even if that purpose was beyond my immediate comprehension.

Maybe folk would tell me I was projecting my desire for catharsis onto natural and perfectly mundane happen-stance. I certainly can't deny that at times I feel a need to impose reason upon a natural world in which the human question of "Why?" may not belong.

But I find my life is full of serendipity, and whether it has arisen from design or chaos is entirely irrelevant. Embracing it allows me to feel connected to the world in a way which feels reciprocal, rather than floundering around on an ocean of ultimately meaningless effect.

The collision of the right circumstances at the right times has given me some of the most formative experiences in my life, not the least of which is love. That's a story of chance that I may recount later. Alcohol was also involved.

My creative skills and passions seem born from moments of revelation that might have easily passed me by. I can recall milestones in my life which at the time seemed utterly unimportant, but in hindsight had the most profound effect on my life's direction. Had my parents made different choices, or had circumstances delayed or given me different opportunities, I would be a completely different person. I like to think that this me is among the better possibilities.

Mostly, serendipitous circumstance has given me the amazing folk in my life: Friends and colleagues who fill my days with humour and creative challenge and motivation and inspiration. That alone is worth the admission fee.

So if you believe there's a purpose to it all, or if you believe we're all just a roll of the dice, serendipity is at the very least a reminder that while sometimes the world will seem alien, inhospitable and of inexplicably cruel intent, there will be times where it is incredibly bountiful; a cornucopia of optimism and potential.

And in that spirit, I say to everyone: Thank you for being in my life. A the edge of my universe, where it meets the edge of yours, something pretty amazing has happened: A little bit of overlap; a little bit of your existence leaving its mark on mine, and hopefully, vice versa. There-in lies the reason for me.

To my uncle: I love you, and I will miss you. Byron said "You always were a bit of a Galah". I think the birds were for you. I'm thankful for that.