Very superstitious

My mother was a pretty amazing woman, far underappreciated in her lifetime by me. I was relatively young when she passed away, and was just coming out on the other side of the awkward post-teenage “you’re required to dislike your mother because you’re turning into her” phase. But as I grow older, I start to both appreciate her more, and to recognize more and more of her in me.

My mother was raised Southern, and by that I mean more backwoods-redneck than belle-of-the-ball- debutante. She was an extraordinarily hard worker and was pretty matter of fact about life generally. But even so, she was also probably the most superstitious, worry-wart I have ever met. She believed in ghosts. She believed in signs. She believed in visions and gut feelings and interpreting dreams. If you spilled the salt, you tossed a pinch over your left shoulder immediately. You avoided breaking mirrors at all costs. You NEVER walked under ladders or opened umbrellas in the house (I actually vividly remember getting in trouble for that last one as a kid…) We had a house full of cats…none of them ever black. If your palms itched, you were coming into money. If your feet itched, you’d be traveling far distances soon. You name the “old-wives tale” and I can promise you that it was gospel in my house growing up.

I don’t know why I always associate being superstitious with being Southern…there’s probably some really fascinating sociological work about region-related behavior patterns here (I might actually research that…now I’m interested...) I guess that even if it was not a product of her Southern-ness, I always thought of my mom’s sixth sense and superstitious nature as being a byproduct of her upbringing, for sure. And in that vein, I too, now have the tendency to be a superstitious adult.

The funny thing about me though is that I am also a byproduct of my father. My father, the very rational, logical, steady, fact-driven man that he is. He and my mom were great counter-balances to one another in that respect. Dad talking my mom down from the high branches of the crazy-tree pretty regularly, and Mom urging Dad to trust her in the things she intuited but that could not always explain. A nice balance. And it seems that I have picked up on the best of both sides of the family. I spill the salt? You better believe I take a pinch and toss it over the left shoulder. I do it without thinking. It is my habit of mind; my reflex response. This is followed of course by a ten-minute soliloquy about how irrational and illogical this whole course of action was.

But no matter what the outcome of that mental argument, I’m definitely tossing the salt over the shoulder next time I spill it. Irrational or not. I always sorta figured that it couldn’t hurt anything, right?

Given the opposite nature of my parents, I find it fitting that one of my favorite quotes has always been (in the words of J’s homeboy Ben Franklin) “I’m always amazed to find that the harder I work, the luckier I get.” That makes sense. Luck AND hard work. A little from column A, and a little from column B—The perfect mix of both my parents at work in me.

I bring this up for a couple of reasons. If I was someone who completely succumbed to superstition free from logic, well, the last couple of weeks would have basically been the karmic equivalent of me breaking a mirror while walking under a ladder inside the house while haphazardly spilling salt, killing spiders, and letting a black cat circle me and my open umbrella. I have had numerous, crazy unsettling signs recently. I have had all sorts of vivid, unnerving dreams (dreams that, upon interpretation in the all- knowing-and-obviously-credible-online-dictionary-of-dream-interpretations, mean that my hopes are being dashed, my aspirations are crashing down upon me, and just for good measure, that I have no self-confidence and have set expectations for myself that are entirely too high….yeeee-ouch…) Even my horoscope for the last two weeks has basically said, “hey loser, maybe just stay in bed again today. Nothing good comes from venturing out.”

These little things can start to wear on someone who is completely superstitious. I being only borderline so, have read these signs cautiously (thanks Mom for making sure I pay attention to the universe) while appropriately doubting their validity and questioning the nature of their origin (thanks Dad, for the common-sense rationality.) But it’s had me a little off kilter, all these ominous occurrences that I’m trying to logic-out instead of become freaked by. It’s a bit of a balancing act for me, and I’m trying desperately to not overcompensate one way or the other.

Because of all this, with special thanks to the musical genius of Stevie Wonder, I have had the words to “Superstitious” going round and round in my head all week. Over and over and over again…. “when you believe in things that you don’t understand, then you’ll suffer…superstition ain’t the way…” Good words to live by, Stevie. Thanks.

But something about that line has always bothered me just a little bit. I mean, I get the point. And especially in light of the last week or so, I couldn’t agree more. Superstitions ain’t the way, because at some point I think they begin to become self-fulfilling prophecies. Daily tarot says I shouldn’t get out of bed today because it’s going to suck out there? Guess I won’t bother going to work. What kind of silliness is that? (Although, if anyone at work is buying that argument, let me know.)

Upon reflection, I think the reason that line makes me uncomfortable is because I am happy to report that I believe in LOTS of things that I don’t understand (like math, possibly?) Believing in things I don’t understand, that’s not always about superstition. Most of the time, I think that’s called faith. Isn’t that what faith is all about—believing in the things you cannot see?

I know that most people consider superstitions to be the opposite of faith…the antithesis of religious belief. But I think that my mom always looked at it a little differently, like that God was providing all these signs and gut feelings and dreams for her, and that it would be foolish not to have faith in Him…faith in taking the time to examine and believe in the signs that she had been shown. Maybe Mom wasn’t superstitious at all, but rather had a great awareness and faithfulness. I like thinking that that is the case.

In my own life I’m trying to strike that balance. Somewhere between superstition and faith, needing to logically work everything out, and learning when to let go. Paying attention to the signs without letting them dictate my actions. Being logical, but not dismissing my gut reactions. I’m still gonna toss the salt over my shoulder if I spill it, but I should probably work a little harder at not knocking it over to begin with.

Last night I had a dream about Mom (this happens very often, and seems fitting. My mom, the believer in seeing and dreams chooses that venue to chat it up with me. I love this.) In her ever-colorful language (that I will censor here for you all this evening) she basically told me to get up off my backside and make my own good luck start to happen instead of sitting around waiting for a sign that it is time to get started. She reminded me hard work was my wheelhouse, and told me to get cracking. “The harder you work, the luckier you get, remember?” she said. And then she smiled. “Have a little faith already, would ya?”

I woke up this morning refreshed and refocused. Does that mean I’m merely paying attention to signs? Maybe. (Tricky work there, Mom. Telling me to stop looking for signs…in a dream. Thanks for the irony.) Is that superstition? I’m not sure. But I can tell you this—faith, logic, superstition, or whatever—I set out today ready again to face the world. And for the first time in weeks, I felt like I was making active progress towards a worthwhile “what’s next.” Thanks Mom, for being superstitious, and for teaching me some of the same. Now, I’ve gotta get back to work making me some luck.