Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Day Thirteen: Superstition

At some point (early on) during my first marriage, I gave up on superstitions. I didn't believe things could really get any worse than they were. I balked at the superstitions about black cats (I prefer black cats over any other), the number thirteen, spilt salt, etc. Working for Bombay and Pier One, I broke a few mirrors (accidentally); and I did not fear the subsequent years that would follow. Co-workers would warn me against walking under ladders extended or leaning against walls and then squeal at my obstinacy as I purposely chose the path they warned against. I would laugh at their silliness and continue on like nothing had happened, because nothing really had or would. To believe in these superstitions meant I had to believe in good luck as well, and no four leafed clover or shooting star was going to save me, give me good luck or grant wishes. I was stuck with the life I had and I had no one to blame but me.

But when I left Assface, I found myself gazing up at stars and making wishes like I had as a child. I had time again for daydreams and hopes and everything that came with it. I had a new outlook. However, this new outlook did not come with a fear of ladders, mirrors, and cracks in the sidewalk or spilt salt. I maintained that these things were not the stuff to be afraid of.

Then I met Daniel. As I've mentioned before he helped me believe in the whimsy again. As our love grew and our bond strengthened I became more and more afraid of outside forces screwing things up. Letting him into my life and heart opened me up to feeling vulnerable about losing him and the sense of security he gave me. My main worry is his (and of course, now Zoe's) health and safety. We've been together for almost five years in January and I think I have told him the same thing every time he leaves the house for the past four years: "Have a good day. Be careful." If we're saying goodbye in the morning and I'm so tired I forget, he tells me he will be careful... and then I tell him again. If he leaves without me getting to say these things because I'm asleep or we both forgot, I will call to tell him - it's become my own superstition. Like if I don't tell him, something bad might happen. Honestly, I think it's a little crazy of me.

I still don't consider myself to be superstitious, really. But I don't rush to tempt bad things happening either. Now, I might be persuaded to choose the path around the ladder, maybe.

What about you? Are you superstitious?

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