Right Here, Right Now

Fate only exists in hindsight. It’s a convenient scapegoat to ease our troubled hearts when something doesn’t go our way. We say things like “It couldn’t have happened any other way,” or “it was meant to be.” You can’t change fate. These are comforting phrases to keep in our pockets when we must rein in our wandering. Stray too far, and we will find shame, guilt, regret, and all those painful feelings we would all rather do without. Fate allows us to deny the possibility of any other outcome. If it was all fated, then it was never in our control to begin with. If it was all fated, we only have the mystical, higher forces to blame for our unhappiness.

Psychologically, I’m fascinated by the concept. But I was not fated to be a psychologist. I come to you as merely a human being with a lifetime of expertise based on lived experience. I’ll share an example of one of my most prominent run-ins with fate.

The summer after my high school, I had the upcoming months planned out in a neat row. I applied to an in-state university only three hours from my hometown. It was a small school close to home with low academic standards, and most of my graduating class was attending there. Needless to say, it was safe. I toured the campus, picked out my classes, and even met my future dorm roommate. Everything was in order for me to move there in late August.

As fate would have it, I started dating my childhood crush that same summer. He was somewhat known as the class heartthrob, and he took a turn dating every one of my friends except me. I told myself I didn’t care, I didn’t understand what the hype was about, and I would rather be his friend anyway. All a bunch of masterfully crafted lies I told myself to shield my heart from the pain of never being chosen. We had gone to the same school since first grade, but it took us twelve years to graduate from friends to lovers.

He was going to an out-of-state university in the fall, close to his family but too far to maintain a long-distance relationship. With the impending break-up at summer’s end, we squeezed in every possible moment together. When his work called him to spend a couple weeks guiding raft trips in the neighboring state, I dropped everything to come along. While we couldn’t be on the water together, I spent my days exploring nearby cities until we reunited at our riverside campsite.

Our friends had moved to one of those nearby cities the year before. They had been dating since high school and left our hometown as soon as they could. Their weekly pictures of indie music scenes and street festivals made our small town feel even smaller. We decided to drive a couple hours out of the way to visit them for a weekend. I stuck out like a sore thumb maneuvering my boyfriend’s monstrous red truck through the narrow alleyway of our friends’ apartment building. The engine grumbled in the sweltering sun as I pulled into a compact angular parking space. Forward– back– forward– back– forward– crunch! The red truck hit a matching blue truck as we both fought for space in the city’s most awkward parking lot. I jumped out and began spilling apologies all over the driver faster than he could pick them up. He was a tall man with white hair and an oblivious expression. We introduced ourselves, and I explained I was here visiting friends for a short while.

“Where do your friends live?” His voice was casual, as if we were chatting at a neighborhood barbecue rather than standing beside two dented trucks.

“Apartment one,” I gestured vaguely toward the building, still waiting to exchange insurance information.

“I own that building,” his eyes crinkled at the corner when he smiled.

“You do?” My palms were slick with sweat.

“Yup! Been here thirty years, watched this whole neighborhood grow up. Apartment three is vacant right now, so you can take that parking spot,” he paused and gave me a cheesy grin. “If you want to move in, give me a call.”

That evening, as the summer sun faded and the city lights matched the twinkling stars in the midnight sky, I recounted this story to my boyfriend. We laughed about it as we did with most funny stories that get filed into fond memories that lose significance over time. But this was different. My boyfriend woke me up that night as we slept on our friends’ apartment floor. “We could have a place like this,” he said. I thought about it, weighing the logistics of moving here and what it would be like. I loved the city. It had a university with a better writing program than the one I had applied to. Our friends would be right next door. It all seemed so perfect that I knew it would fall apart if I examined it any longer. So, I cancelled my enrollment at the in-state university, redirected all my scholarship funds, went home and told my mom I was moving farther away than planned. Her worries were too big to hide behind her supportive demeanor, but I know she is proud of me. She of all people knows my dreams needed lots of room to grow. Today, I’m writing this story at the same desk I brought with me when I moved to this city all those years ago. 

In hindsight, I can say it was fate that I hit my future landlord’s truck. That one accident sparked a chain of events that derailed my carefully laid out life plan. I would have had different friends, a different home, a different job, a different school, and a string of experiences that would make me a different person. Had I declined the offer and stayed at the in-state school, I would have said things like, “I was meant to be here,” and “it couldn’t have happened any other way.” But it could have, and that’s the thing.

My boyfriend and I broke up, and I have had many loves come and go since then. The friends I lived next door to also broke up, and none of us talk to each other anymore. Though nothing turned out the way I expected it to, I wouldn’t change it if I could. If we accept that it could have happened another way, we open the door for multiple space-time continuums and alternate realities. Which– I like to believe– is possible, though I’m not sure what modern science has to say about that. But I was not fated to be a scientist. I was fated to be a writer. And as such, my realities come from the ocean of my imagination, inspired by my past experiences and those of the ancestors before me.

If we are to accept alternate realities as true and valid as present realities, then we must also accept defeat. We must accept that the choices we made are irreversible byand were, ultimately, unnecessary. We could have made different choices that resulted in a more desirable outcome. But, had we done that, we might face a similar dilemma in which we wondered what would have happened if we made another choice. Let’s say I did stay in my home state. Who’s to say I wouldn’t wonder what could have been if I accepted the offer to move next door to my friends? If my core self today remained the same in this alternate timeline– and for the sake of simplicity, let’s assume it did– then I would ponder these things. Because I am a philosopher at heart. And I cannot help but wonder what could have been and what could be. 

No matter how long we go back and forth on these possibilities, we will always end up in the same place. Right here. Right now. See? This is all that really exists. Even in an alternate timeline, we will always be in the present moment. We will drive our little human minds bonkers if we get stuck in the loop of what could have been and what could be. We can never know what was fortunate and unfortunate until it is too late. The truth is, fate exists in hindsight and it exists right now. If you subscribe to the philosophy of fate, then you must believe that every event, big and small, is leading up to what is meant to happen next. By that definition, this moment is fate. And so is this one. And so is this one. And so is this one. Let’s skip all the complications and just be here now. Let it all happen. Surrender to fate, even if it is just a scapegoat.

From the Wisdom of the Oracle