There’s a certain kind of grace that comes with walking without expectations, in just letting your feet guide you and allowing your senses to become fully absorbed in the walk itself. It is not walking to burn calories; neither is it walking to be on your way to somewhere. It is simply walking for the sake of walking. This is what I call my “Serendipity Walk.”
When I go on a Serendipity Walk, I ask the Universe to “lead me to whatever I need to see.” I usually start off in a comfortable place, such as in a mall, and then let my feet take me to wherever they feel I need to be (within the bounds of safety and reason, of course). Such walks have led me to great conversations with strangers, shopping finds that I would normally not see on a regular shopping trip, or gems of wisdom disguised as signposts, posters, book titles, shop names, and what-have-you. Of course, such as walk also presupposes that one has the time to walk without expectation, and so I do this when (a) there is absolutely nothing better to do in my to-do list, or (b) I feel that my brain’s batteries are dead and need to be recharged.
Sometimes, though, I find that it’s best to go on a Serendipity Walk PRECISELY when you’re tired and overwhelmed and you just need some space. The act of clearing out a bit of your schedule and just letting all urgencies fly off into the air can be a liberating and enlivening experience.
This weekend’s Serendipity Walk, done within the confines of Powerbooks Greenbelt, led me to a great find: Paulo Coelho’s Like the Flowing River, a collection of essays and personal musings by My Idol Himself. Unlike all his other best-selling works, this book is not a novel with an engaging character in a mystical place—it is about his life, his thoughts, his experiences; it is like really getting to know the man himself. For someone who loves to writes in essay format (and bare her soul while doing it), it was a welcome treat. The book practically leapt off the shelves and onto my face, calling out to me to “Take me now!” And since it seemed to have been the only copy of that book in the entire bookstore, I did what it told me to do.
That night, after falling asleep while reading the book, words came to me. At first they were like a trickle coming out of a leaky faucet. Then they just gushed out of my head, until I had to wake up, get my notebook, and scribble everything down. And when I was done, my heart was not content until I was able to type the words (for which I had to free up some space in my brother’s cluttered Mac), and send the message out to my friends. Those words formed The Boy, The Man, and The Sky, my first attempt at fiction. It was finished at around 2 A.M.
And since I was so inspired by everything that had happened to me that day, I worked up the gall to email Mr. Coelho about it. (I keep on reminding myself that he is just a human being who receives emails and probably answers them, just like most of us do.) Heaven bless him—he emailed back the next day with some encouraging words. My heart was soaring once again.
That same weekend, my mom and I had errands to run around town. By some twist of fate we ended up heading into all sorts of traffic deadlocks and detours and, before we knew it, we were terribly late for certain appointments. Our screwed-up schedules were enough to drive anyone mad, but Mom and I believe in the same thing: There must be a reason for it!
And true enough, that same night (again, by some twist of fate), we ended up in my cousin’s house, talking about how to help the new Sangguniang Kabataan council in her barangay with their activities. Anyone who knows me well enough would know that I’m a frustrated SK official. I never really got the chance to run for office back when I was still young enough to do so, and I although I still have my grand notions of serving the public someday (in whatever capacity—or even as President, as my Tickle “Dream Job” result suggests), right now I could settle for helping my cousin do her job effectively. If I can’t be President, then maybe I could be “consultant to the future President,” or something like that.
In the meantime, my brother was in neighboring Singapore, where he was having a Serendipity Walk of his own. He was fortunate enough to have been part of a school trip that was open only to honor students, and since he has been a consistent Dean’s Lister, he went off on his first overseas trip without Mom or Ate. During the trip, their group went to all sorts of places that would drive my heart mad with excitement: Arab Street, Little India, Chinatown, the Asian Civilization Museum, an exhibition at the Esplanade, a trip to some “artsy” shows, and a photography exhibit. Although he enjoyed the museum and city tour, he said that he was “bored to death” by the “artsy-fartsy stuff.” (And I gasped in disbelief.) But the minute their party walked into the financial district, he described getting “a high” unlike any other. (Yes, my brother gets a high reading the International Herald Tribune and the Asian Wall Street Journal—and he just turned 18.)
So right then and there, he heeded the call of his heart and declared that Industrial Design was not for him. He is now back home, working to shift into a course that would allow him to later on work with banks, financial institutions, or trade groups. It was a gutsy move that would make other kids cringe, but my brother was wise enough to heed his Inner Voice.
As I end this entry, I shall also be getting ready for yet another Serendipity Walk, which will start in an art lecture in a far-off place (read: Katipunan) and will end wherever it needs to end. I don’t know anyone else who is going to that lecture; I don’t even know why I want to spend a total of three hours commuting and maybe another three or more hours sitting down with people I don’t know, just to sink my teeth into something that I probably might not even fully understand. All I know is that I HAVE to be there, for reasons that will reveal themselves to me much, much later.
Here's to Serendipity, and to allowing ourselves to be led by our souls. May your Walks be as pleasant as mine have been!
When I go on a Serendipity Walk, I ask the Universe to “lead me to whatever I need to see.” I usually start off in a comfortable place, such as in a mall, and then let my feet take me to wherever they feel I need to be (within the bounds of safety and reason, of course). Such walks have led me to great conversations with strangers, shopping finds that I would normally not see on a regular shopping trip, or gems of wisdom disguised as signposts, posters, book titles, shop names, and what-have-you. Of course, such as walk also presupposes that one has the time to walk without expectation, and so I do this when (a) there is absolutely nothing better to do in my to-do list, or (b) I feel that my brain’s batteries are dead and need to be recharged.
Sometimes, though, I find that it’s best to go on a Serendipity Walk PRECISELY when you’re tired and overwhelmed and you just need some space. The act of clearing out a bit of your schedule and just letting all urgencies fly off into the air can be a liberating and enlivening experience.
* * *
This weekend’s Serendipity Walk, done within the confines of Powerbooks Greenbelt, led me to a great find: Paulo Coelho’s Like the Flowing River, a collection of essays and personal musings by My Idol Himself. Unlike all his other best-selling works, this book is not a novel with an engaging character in a mystical place—it is about his life, his thoughts, his experiences; it is like really getting to know the man himself. For someone who loves to writes in essay format (and bare her soul while doing it), it was a welcome treat. The book practically leapt off the shelves and onto my face, calling out to me to “Take me now!” And since it seemed to have been the only copy of that book in the entire bookstore, I did what it told me to do.
That night, after falling asleep while reading the book, words came to me. At first they were like a trickle coming out of a leaky faucet. Then they just gushed out of my head, until I had to wake up, get my notebook, and scribble everything down. And when I was done, my heart was not content until I was able to type the words (for which I had to free up some space in my brother’s cluttered Mac), and send the message out to my friends. Those words formed The Boy, The Man, and The Sky, my first attempt at fiction. It was finished at around 2 A.M.
And since I was so inspired by everything that had happened to me that day, I worked up the gall to email Mr. Coelho about it. (I keep on reminding myself that he is just a human being who receives emails and probably answers them, just like most of us do.) Heaven bless him—he emailed back the next day with some encouraging words. My heart was soaring once again.
* * *
That same weekend, my mom and I had errands to run around town. By some twist of fate we ended up heading into all sorts of traffic deadlocks and detours and, before we knew it, we were terribly late for certain appointments. Our screwed-up schedules were enough to drive anyone mad, but Mom and I believe in the same thing: There must be a reason for it!
And true enough, that same night (again, by some twist of fate), we ended up in my cousin’s house, talking about how to help the new Sangguniang Kabataan council in her barangay with their activities. Anyone who knows me well enough would know that I’m a frustrated SK official. I never really got the chance to run for office back when I was still young enough to do so, and I although I still have my grand notions of serving the public someday (in whatever capacity—or even as President, as my Tickle “Dream Job” result suggests), right now I could settle for helping my cousin do her job effectively. If I can’t be President, then maybe I could be “consultant to the future President,” or something like that.
* * *
In the meantime, my brother was in neighboring Singapore, where he was having a Serendipity Walk of his own. He was fortunate enough to have been part of a school trip that was open only to honor students, and since he has been a consistent Dean’s Lister, he went off on his first overseas trip without Mom or Ate. During the trip, their group went to all sorts of places that would drive my heart mad with excitement: Arab Street, Little India, Chinatown, the Asian Civilization Museum, an exhibition at the Esplanade, a trip to some “artsy” shows, and a photography exhibit. Although he enjoyed the museum and city tour, he said that he was “bored to death” by the “artsy-fartsy stuff.” (And I gasped in disbelief.) But the minute their party walked into the financial district, he described getting “a high” unlike any other. (Yes, my brother gets a high reading the International Herald Tribune and the Asian Wall Street Journal—and he just turned 18.)
So right then and there, he heeded the call of his heart and declared that Industrial Design was not for him. He is now back home, working to shift into a course that would allow him to later on work with banks, financial institutions, or trade groups. It was a gutsy move that would make other kids cringe, but my brother was wise enough to heed his Inner Voice.
* * *
As I end this entry, I shall also be getting ready for yet another Serendipity Walk, which will start in an art lecture in a far-off place (read: Katipunan) and will end wherever it needs to end. I don’t know anyone else who is going to that lecture; I don’t even know why I want to spend a total of three hours commuting and maybe another three or more hours sitting down with people I don’t know, just to sink my teeth into something that I probably might not even fully understand. All I know is that I HAVE to be there, for reasons that will reveal themselves to me much, much later.
* * *
Here's to Serendipity, and to allowing ourselves to be led by our souls. May your Walks be as pleasant as mine have been!
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