the Universe isn’t against you—but your mind might be

learning to live without labeling the unlucky, the bad, the unfortunate

My mind loves to toil. I can spend hours simply daydreaming. Maybe it’s why I had no choice but to become an artist. My mind needs to pick apart, obsess, intellectualize. I am chronic daydreamer, over-thinker, and storyteller. My inner monologue runs on a loop, day in and day out— fantasizing over the daily tasks, elusive dreams, and meaning behind every choice I make. There are narratives hidden within all of it. And most of the time, they are not kind. My reactionary mind at its best— is highly aware and intuitive. At its worst, it is quick to self-scrutinize and identify with harmful narratives.

If we aren’t careful, these stories begin to run our lives, without a second thought.

Because our mind (or ego, in this case) loves to categorize, it enjoys the job it’s created for itself of labeling things as “like” or “dislike” — “good” or “bad” — “lucky” or “unlucky”. There can never simply just be.

This is why I mediate. Why I have a yoga practice. Why when I do both of these things consistently, my mind feels less congested. I am able to observe myself more clearly. I can see the patterning for what it is. I can begin to unfurl the tight grip my mind has me in. Meaning— I can notice my mind wanting to label an experience— rather than simply having one. Our ego loves to keep our attention in the place it learned to fester. It is safer there.

Two months ago, my teacher shared the following story surrounding contentment and the monkey mind. It not only stuck with me, but enacted a little ‘ah-ha’ moment in my own life— one I’ll share with you below— that ended up having a massive impact in a short period of time. I’m still witnessing the domino effect of this little, tiny moment of awareness. But first, here’s the story:

“Fortunate, Unfortunate?”

There once lived a farmer. He lived on a farm with his wife, his son and one horse that the family had raised from a colt. The family planned to enter the horse in the annual county fair and hoped it would win prizes that could lead to breeding opportunities. This would ensure a nice future income for the farmer and his family.

The night before the fair, a violent storm swept over the countryside. When the farmer and his family awoke early the next morning, they found that the fences had been blown down. Their prize stallion was nowhere to be found. The farmer's wife was beside herself with despair. The neighbours came and joined in the wife's grief.

"What terrible misfortune has befallen us!" cried the wife. "Yes, yes, this is most unfortunate,"the neighbours agreed. But the farmer paused and said, "Fortunate or unfortunate, I don't know, let's wait and see."

A week passed and the farmer and his family were sitting at the breakfast table. Looking out the kitchen window they saw a herd of horses galloping toward the farm. It was their faithful stallion, leading five horses and a little filly behind him. He had found a herd of wild mares, and now he was bringing them home. The farmer's family ran out to open the corral gate for the horses. The farmer's wife was overjoyed and exclaimed, "What a fortunate turn of events, this is unbelievable!" The neighbours rushed over exclaiming, "How fortunate you are!" The farmer just said, "Fortunate or unfortunate, I don't know, let's wait and see."

Over the next weeks the farmer and his son were busy training the new horses. One day the son was thrown by one of the wild horses. He suffered a bad fall and broke many bones. The farmer's wife was very upset. Between her sobs she said, "We never should have let those wild horses in; this is a most unfortunate accident! My poor son." The neighbours came to commiserate with the wife about her misfortune. And the farmer said, "Fortunate or unfortunate, I don't know, let's wait and see."

Two days later the king's soldiers came by the little farm. The king had declared war on an adjacent country and the soldiers had orders to draft all able-bodied young men into the army. On seeing the farmer's son with both legs and both arms broken, not to mention several ribs fractured and numerous lacerations on his face and head, they left him home and continued on to the next family. The farmer's wide wept with relief, crying, "How lucky we are! This is most unfortunate." The neighbours most of whom had had sons taken off to war, said, "You are indeed most fortunate." The farmer said, "Fortunate or unfortunate, I don't know, let's wait and see."

Some months passed. The farmer's son was recovering nicely; he was able to walk, albeit with a cane. A messenger from the kings palace dropped by the farm to inquire about the health of the son. Seeing the son's improved condition he stated that by order of the king, the son must come at once to the palace to work in the gardens and stables. There was a shortage of workers at the palace due to the war. What could the family do but let their son go? The wife was bitterly angry and cursed the king for his unfairness. "How unfortunate we surely are! We have lost our only son and there will be no one to help us with the farm now." The neighbors came by to console the wife, murmuring, "What an unfortunate turn of events." The farmer just said, "Fortunate or unfortunate, I don't know, let's wait and see."

The king had a beautiful daughter. One day she looked out of her window and saw the handsome new gardener. She fell in love with him and went to her father and said, "Father, I have found the man I wish to marry. Please make it happen!" The king, unable to resist a request from his lovely daughter replied, "Of course, it shall be done."

The next day a messenger was sent from the palace to the farm, bearing a wedding invitation for the farmer and his wife, as well as an invitation for them to come live permanently at the palace. Can you imagine the reaction of the farmer's wife? She was ecstatic and could hardly contain her joy. Jumping up and down she laughed, "This is incredible, how fortunate!" The neighbours exclaimed, "Indeed, this is a very fortunate turn of events!" And the farmer, as usual, said, "Fortunate or unfortunate, I don't know, let's wait and see…” (a story from Jivamukti Yoga)

(The yoga Sutras) and this story remind us of the power of equanimity, especially during life’s most difficult moments. A yoga and mindfulness practice, ideally, help us to create a more natural sense of said equanimity, honoring the full-range of each experience and its possibilities. We learn to open our hands and cling less. Life begins to flow, and we witness the tide roll in, knowing it will always recede once more. We become less knocked off center, and more willing to surrender. (So much easier said than-fucking-done) Still, it’s why I have showed up on my mat for the last several years. It is practice. And most days, it’s far from magical.

About a week after I first heard this story, I was in a great place to start the year. I had committed myself to spaces that would inspire, re-center, and educate me. I had big plans for commissions— alongside my first-ever studio shoot in my new studio. I was feeling grounded as fuck, inspired, and prepared to take on the world.

In fact, on this particular morning I specifically said aloud to my boyfriend “Nothing is going to rock me this year. I feel so prepared to keep my nervous system at a healthier level” After a year and a half of emergency surgeries, unexpected pet illnesses, hard life changes— I was proud of myself for feeling a sense of steadiness again.

I left the house that day to set up the studio for my photoshoot, excited to start the year on a positive note.

When I arrived, there was machinery in my parking spot, and commotion on my building’s roof. It’s too early for this, I remember thinking, desperately to run past the loud commotion— I fumble with my keys to get into the studio— away from the noise. To my surprise, when I open the door, it’s actually louder inside than out. I flip on the light, and immediately notice the entire floor covered in a black soot… with chunks of debris falling from the ceiling. I look up to only see no ceiling at all… but skylight.

They were tearing off our roof, with no understanding that we had no drop ceiling below us. The debris and thick dust was coating every inch of the studio— including all of the precious work I had laid out the night before in preparation for the photoshoot.

My entire life’s work, covered in black soot, nails, and chunks of wood. Everything I had ever made.

I drop my bags, and immediately begin running around to collect as much work as I can— rushing it out to my car.

The panic in my body is a tunnel-visioned, mind-numbing thing. Out the window goes that steady nervous system I swore I had developed — my hands shaking as I run around the studio, grabbing all I can as if the building is literally on fire.

“How am I this unlucky?” reverberates through my mind on a loop: over and over and over and over.

But what if our bad luck is just a clearing of our path?

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