And then there’s the great Yiddish proverb that reminds us of how when man makes plans, God laughs. He’s laughing right now— if not at me and you, then someone else within our gravitational pull. And since I gather that this is a somewhat terminal condition for The Man Upstairs, I really believe that we should all just start laughing too. Early and often.

I’ve got no sunshiny optimism that makes receiving unexpected news any easier. Not for me, and not for anyone else, either. The best we can do is to remain present in the performance of our daily tasks— especially when life would appear to overwhelmingly suck. Everything that we know in our existence will someday transmogrify into something else that will preoccupy us anew, and it could very well be something more stressful. Something that will show up today or tomorrow. All we know is that right now God’s laughter would appear to be directed elsewhere so we’re not really paying attention.

For me at least, I have arrived at a point where none of this uncertainty stuff taxes my mind too much. If I allowed every squall to hinder my sound decision-making mechanisms, if I devoted hours of mental space to wondering how I will meet each new challenge, then I’d have long-since checked out from all that this beautiful world has to offer on an everyday basis.

I remember when I was in one-on-one language training back in Washington, DC. My teacher was a whip-smart Senegalese woman named Marie who had lived through five decades of roller coaster transition. At the time, I was still learning to be comfortable in my new demographic as a young divorcée. I was filled with anxiety over the lack of definition in my new parameters, and over the course of our daily lessons I had divulged most of my anxiety to Marie— to include the unknowns associated with my impending move to West Africa.

One afternoon my brain was really boiling over with too much frenetic thought, and I felt paralyzed by the cosmic question mark that hung stubbornly in my field of vision. Normally the consummate conversationalist and educator, Marie always gave helpful insight into my thoughts while at the same time gently correcting my grammatical faults. On this occasion though, she suddenly halted my French gymnastic routine as I proceeded to stack insecurity on top of insecurity over what would or wouldn’t be.

“Mégane,” she interjected, “il y aura des choses…..que tu ne peux même pas imaginer…”  She was looking up over my head in deep thought, her eyes filled with a vision that only she was able to see. There will be things that come along that you can’t even begin to imagine. She then looked at me squarely in the eyes, willing me to take what she said as acceptable prophecy.

And she was right. My state of mind denied me access to her crystal ball/kauri shell gazing, but I never once doubted her words. I could only trust in what she was saying and accept the possibility that not knowing so much about my own future might not be such a terrible thing. And if it was going to be terrible, I really didn’t want to know that either.

I have never forgotten about Marie Diop, and much of her wisdom I still carry with me as I start another year in this spring season. Sure, my life feels fairly stable right now and it’s easy for me to sit back and claim that unforeseen flux is totally manageable. Easy for me to say. But I really do understand that there is much to come in our lives that hasn’t yet been considered. Our current actions create impact, and the reverberations echo into the future, come rain or come shine.

And if we’re talking about the emotional response to all of this, I will acknowledge that no one likes to feel cheated or mistreated. Everyone wants and probably should be consulted when it comes to transition— but you know just as well as I do that this doesn’t always happen. It didn’t happen for my ex-husband when I told him the marriage was over, and it didn’t happen for me on more occasions that I’m able to recall in this present day. Life can be impolite, but you have to move past this fact. Lord knows that there are more things lined up that will take an obstacle’s place— things that might feel worse than whatever is currently interrupting your sleep patterns.

You’ll recall at the start that I didn’t claim to be Ms. Suzy Delusional about all this life living stuff.  Still, sometimes I wish I had a magic wand that would smooth out the rougher sections of our existential path— if only for a couple of times each galactic year. But no such tool exists. It’s a matter of taking life in its current iteration and applying skill sets that we’ve managed to quasi-master over the years. I think this is the part where you must join in on the tragicomic laugh that God has inexplicably directly toward you.

Will I always feel as though life prepares us for what we’ve got going on? I doubt it. But I do believe that each time I’ve looked back on a turn I’ve navigated, all of the bruises on my hip bones and all the scrapes on my arms are not a bad tax to pay for successfully bumping my way through it all. And even then, I still must look ahead to the future, lest I stay so engrossed in the scars that whatever’s ahead knocks me permanently on my ass because I’m sulking over the fact of a change in state.

The sun is almost up now here in London, and at this early hour I have no idea what’s going to greet me once I hop off the Underground. But it’s springtime now, and I’ve got a bit of optimism running through my veins. As like every other day, I’m going to try and negotiate this new season with an equal measure of humor, gratitude and patience. There is so much ahead that you and I still don’t see coming, but for whatever comes I will strive to stay measured— or at least see the comedy in whatever comes raining down next. And also, I’ve also got my umbrella— because I have learned a thing or two about London.