Dear Universe:

I get it.

The last time I saw my dad before he died in June, he asked me what I believed in. Dad thought of himself as a born again, evangelical Christian. He believed he had a close, personal, speaking relationship with Jesus, and I’m pretty sure he was sincerely worried about my soul. I tried to give him the Readers Digest Condensed version (you have to be really old to get that reference) of my beliefs, and he seemed satisfied, or at least less worried.

My beliefs are amorphous and constantly shifting. This makes sense to me, since our beliefs are shaped (or SHOULD be) by new experiences, personal growth, insight, new information & knowledge, letting go of ideas that prove false, and a constantly changing world.

I don’t believe in a personal god. I do believe there’s order, intention, and evolution in the Universe (the Universe is the name I give to this order, though any name we give it is misleading and inadequate). I believe our planet is a living being (just look into trees and fungi, and you’ll see why). I believe there’s a collective consciousness, and until everyone figures this out, humans will fight and compete with each other. I believe kindness is a warrior skill. I believe there’ve been wise teachers among us who’ve tried to show us better ways to live—Buddha, Jesus, Lao Tzu, Thich Nhat Hanh, Black Elk, Blanche Devereaux, Marceline the Vampire Queen, Charlotte the spider, and others.

One belief that’s remained pretty consistent for me is that in every situation and experience, I’m presented with the opportunity to LEARN something, which is as close as I can come to believing we have a “purpose” in being here. And I believe that if I’m too stubborn or too dense or too distracted to learn what I need, the Universe will give me the “lesson” over and over until I get it. If need be, the Universe will eventually kick my arse with the lesson.

Take, for example, my stroke in 2012. I had the information, and I’d had a million opportunities, to figure out that I wasn’t coping well with stress, that I needed to quit smoking, and that I needed to ditch the procrastination and 3-day grading marathons, bent over a table in weak light, drinking bottomless pots of coffee, eating Doritos or nothing at all, with occasional smoke breaks. But I didn’t get it until the Universe kicked my arse with just enough of a stroke to pull me out of my stubborn stupor and force me to re-evaluate.

Now, in this freaky, hellish year, I believe the current lesson has to do with DEATH. Mom, several friends, Polly Hester, Dad, school children, Ukranians…they just keep leaving. Now Ray and I are deciding whether we can stop being selfish and let/help our dog Yogi go—he’s 14 and has a mast cell tumor on his foot that’s recently and rapidly grown to the point where he can’t put weight on his foot. But he still eats, jumps in Ray’s chair to nap, sticks his happy face out the window on car rides, gets in line for treats, so we’ve had our lalala fingers in our ears to shush those niggling voices…

I believe this death lesson might have to do with letting go. Tragedies, crises, and missteps have been coming so fast and furious (they should have stopped after the first one; maybe the second) that I haven’t had time (or haven’t made time) to process these losses. I may need to let go of my parents and admit to my orphanhood. I may need to admit how much I adored my mom, and how badly I wanted my dad to be the kind of dad he couldn’t be. I may need to admit that whatever questions I still have will go unanswered. I may need to bury my dog. I may need to hole up, let go, and crycrycrycry.

But in the meantime, I’m in my typical hyper-responsible, “I’m okay” mode, planning funerals, putting together photo boards and slide shows, cleaning, sorting, organizing, writing. And I’m praying (to the Universe) that I’ve already HAD my kick in the arse; I think I get it. I get it.