My lucky number is 27 and always has been since as far back as I can remember. I'm not sure why I chose that number. Maybe it was because my two favorite numbers were 2 and 7 or maybe because I was born on the 27th day of August. The reason doesn't actually matter, because I haven't needed a reason to believe it was my lucky number my whole life. I just did. I don't think I've ever even confirmed that the number has in fact brought me any kind of luck, yet whenever it's time to choose lottery numbers or to think of a number between 1 and something else, I pick 27. Sometimes it's just easier to have a go to.
And you wouldn't think 27 is a really high number, until you're counting on it to be the day things get better, and everyday to get there is an uphill climb. I'm currently at day twelve of walking towards a brighter life for myself. I definitely didn't think it would be easier by now, but I'm definitely not so sure it isn't harder. Break ups suck, we know this. Even the name itself suggests pain, because pain will always be true and certain in some way for someone if the something that is breaking is living or real. And it really was.
I meditated this morning, and the man in the app told me to think about the good, the patience and the joy that I'll have space to achieve once I've cleared all the negative energy and clutter. It's a bitch of a process though. Some days are made easier by the simplest things like listening to Brixton play the new song he learned on his recorder or by standing back to look at my freshly painted bookshelf or even by just appreciating that I seem to have magically gained the time to do those things. But it takes room to exist and two and a half years of smiling or fighting will make a mark. In the end, the shadow animals and the certainty of being the person that matters most weighed just as much as the sighs and declarations of depletion, the gratuitous snapping and the self-important head wags. They all equally weigh nothing now, because they are all no longer there. Good or bad, it's still empty.
I've been trying to be careful in this particular kind of despair. It's just so much easier to turn to all the wrong things to make you feel less vacant. So I've been doing things like waking up at 5:30am, drinking more honey lavender tea, making every hug last at least six seconds (which I was interested to learn is the minimum time a hug should last to promote the flow of all the mood-boosting, pro-bonding chemicals like oxytocin and serotonin), and of course reading A LOT. Reading makes me feel like I'm growing, and happiness, for me, always seems to happen within an atmosphere of growth. All the more clarity this gives me for why things didn't work out.
So in just under an hour it will be day thirteen, and I have to believe that every hour forward holds a tiny unrealized promise of finding a lovelier and better fitting joy for myself. Or maybe a new song. And maybe my lucky number 27 will finally prove to me its worth and significance by miraculously making things easier on the 27th day. Or maybe I'll win the lottery. Or maybe none of those things. I'm thankful for the crumb of certainty that any movement from this far down is actually up.. so at least there's hope, which is more than I had 13 days ago. xx