Do you believe in fate? In destiny? In serendipity if you will? Because as I’m writing this, I’m sitting on a three-and-a-half-hour plane ride, watching Sara Thomas tell Jonathan Trager that it’s her favorite word. “It’s just such a nice sound for what it means: a fortunate accident,” she says as charmingly as only she can, or perhaps anyone else as beautiful as she is and who has an English accent. Anyway, it resonates because lately I’ve been thinking quite a lot about fate. See, I’ve had one too many people voice their opinions on mine: on where I’ll end up, why, how, when and with whom. And maybe it’s solely this fact that’s inspired my self-exploration, but maybe it’s something more.
To explain the more obvious reason (and the more easily explicable), I detest the idea of my fate being in anyone’s hands, even my own. To the people who have been incessantly, without any requests or urgings on my part, hinting at marriage or plotting my next career move; to those who think they know where I’ll be in a year; and to those who think I don’t know these things. You’re right, I don’t. But neither do you. And that’s something I’ve always loved about my way of doing things. It inspires a certain kind of nausea in the moment that I think is productive if not only provocative. At least, I hope it is.
So what about fate?
Like Sara Thomas, I’ve been feeling like I’m on the verge of some kind of mental breakdown and like Sara Thomas, instead of rationalizing it, I would much rather submit to fate. Because I’m reckless. Because I’m a coward. And, because maybe the stars will align? Maybe all those quotes we pin are true?
Cassiopia “made a tragic mistake and paid for eternity.” That’s how the movie starts. But that’s not how it ends.