It's Not About Luck: My Real-Life Stories of Serendipity
Today is St. Patrick’s Day here in the United States. I’ve always been conflicted about the holiday. I think my hesitation to fully embrace a celebratory attitude stems from one of a couple of reasons. Either: a) my aversion to a holiday that legitimizes drunkenness or b) that the holiday mascot is a leprechaun— a cute, jolly little short dude who is an appropriating stereotype and caricature for a Little Person (who are actually real people, by the way).
Aside from green beer and leprechauns, though, St. Patrick’s Day is most associated with luck and four-leaf clovers. The myth of Celtic tradition says that four-leaf clovers are to be used to repel back luck. The leaves of the clover themself stand for faith, hope, luck and love.
While that is all good, I don’t really believe in luck, per se. The closest I can come to believing would be how luck is applied in a quote made famous by Oprah Winfrey. She says, “Luck is when destiny meets opportunity.” I like it because it makes more sense to me when I can reframe luck into a result rather than just random happenstance.
Instead of luck, what I choose to believe in is something called serendipity. Serendipity, as defined, is the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way. So, kind of like luck, but with equal parts mystery and intention.
Before I realized I had lived several serendipitous experiences in real life, I got to see it explored on the big screen in the movie by the same name. Serendipity is a 2001 romantic comedy featuring Kate Beckinsale and John Cusack. In it, their characters, Sara Thomas and Jonathan Trager, search for each other years after the night they first met, fell in love, and separated, convinced that one day they’d end up together again one day.
One of my favorite parts of the movie comes near the end when Cusack’s best friend and writer pens these words:
Yet even in certain defeat, the courageous Trager secretly clung to the belief that life is not merely a series of meaningless accidents or coincidences. Uh-uh. But rather, it’s a tapestry of events that culminate in an exquisite, sublime plan. Ultimately Jonathan concluded that if we are to live life in harmony with the universe, we must all possess a powerful faith in what the ancients used to call “fatum,” what we currently refer to as destiny.
Oye. That scene hits me deep in my annoyingly optimistic attitude and hopelessly romantic heart every time I re-watch that movie.
I suppose it hits me closer to home because I feel like I have lived serendipity several times in my life. The experiences I am going to detail below some might call mere coincidences. That these things just happened “because.” They are okay to settle for no explanation or reason. I think this is an easier thing to believe when bad stuff happens. But when it is for something good that has occurred, well, it may not be the luck of the Irish in action, but it feels just as magical.
STORY NUMBER ONE: MEETING DREW
At the top of my serendipity list has to be, of course, how I met my husband. Long story short, one of my best friends and roommate at the time introduced us. Kind of. For this to be somewhat fate, there has to be a wrinkle, right? Well, there was. We happened to be living on opposite coasts of the country at the time.
Robyn and I lived in South Carolina, while Drew resided in California. Robyn met Drew first because she came to California to attend a conference. Drew was on the planning committee, and they got to know each other via message boards in planning for the conference. I didn’t have the vacation time to go, so I stayed home.
When Robyn got home, I noticed she was chatting with someone online. When I inquired who she was chatting with, she told me it was Drew and how she knew him. “He’s a really nice guy; you guys might hit it off!,” she said encouragingly.
Curious, I went over to the keyboard and introduced myself. And the rest, as they say, is history.
I don’t like to think too much about what would have happened had she never gone to that conference. My gut says we would have met some other way. But that might just be hope talking. Either way, I’m glad I didn’t have to find out.
STORY NUMBER TWO: MEETING BONNIE
One day, while sitting at my desk in the newsroom of the Aiken Standard, I commented to my friend and co-worker, Kim, that I was getting my hair done later that day at the Regis Hair Salon at the Aiken Mall. “Oh, that is where I get my hair done,” she replied. “You should be sure you ask for Bonnie. She’s the best.”
“Okay,” I said, not remembering who I had booked for my appointment, but I kept a mental note of the name.
When I arrived at the hair salon, a beautiful and friendly woman sitting at the reception desk greeted me. “Are you Miss Jody?” she asked. “Sure am!” I replied. “Great, I’m Bonnie. I’ll be doing your hair today!”
Wow, what are the odds? I thought. Bonnie did a transformational job on my hair that day. I walked out an almost whole new me! You know, the way a fabulous makeover can make you feel? It’s like you are still the same person; only you look more like the person on the outside how you feel you are on the inside.
A few days later, back in the newsroom, another friend and co-worker approached me to compliment me on my new hairstyle. “I love your hair!” Erin said. “Oh yeah, I got it done at Regis a few days ago,” I replied. “Oh, do you know Bonnie?” Erin asked. “OMG, yes! She is the woman who did my hair!”
Now you might be wondering, is Bonnie the only stylist who worked at this Regis? The answer is, no, she wasn’t. And while Aiken is a small college town/city, it is still big enough that fate had to have been in my favor to get Bonnie for my stylist that day. When I flipped open that phonebook (yes, I said phonebook as this was pre-Yelp and Google was barely a thing), those yellow pages offered me a lot of choices. And somehow, my finger landed on Regis.
What started out as a stylist/client relationship quickly evolved into a wonderful friendship. Bonnie is not only great at what she does but also a great person for who she is. We are still friends even though the time and distance of life have taken us on separate paths.
Maybe I would have eventually met Bonnie while living in Aiken. Perhaps our social circles would’ve ultimately crossed paths. My hair definitely needed some good old-fashioned TLC in those days, so I definitely would have found someone to style it. But to this day, I’m so thankful, for so many reasons, that the stylist who picked up the phone the day I made my appointment, was Bonnie.
STORY NUMBER THREE: MEETING PASTOR BEN
Shortly after I moved out to California, Drew and I developed the routine of going to an adult swim center three nights a week. Drew would swim laps while I would do exercises in the shallow section. Over time, as usually is the case, you start to get chatty with the other regulars.
Kimberly and her mom, Belva, came to the pool most nights we were there. We’d exchange small talk, and as time passed, we got to know more about each other. I started to share how Drew and I talking marriage, but ideally, we wanted to find a new church family first.
Kimberly shared how much she loved the church she and her family attended, Foothill Presbyterian Church in San Jose, where Ben Daniels was the pastor. I remember Kimberly speaking so fondly of Pastor Ben— how she had known him for years and how supportive he was when her father passed away.
Hmmm... Presbyterian. I was open to learning about new faiths but had never considered changing religions. I was raised Lutheran, and Drew was raised Catholic. As we learned later on, it is very common for the Presbyterian Church to be the place that serves as a middle ground between the two.
At Kimberly’s encouragement, Drew and I went to a few services at Foothill, even though it is at least a 30-minute drive from our house. We pretty quickly realized why she spoke so highly of Pastor Ben. He was (and still is) everything and more that I would want for my clergy leader. We also found the congregation to be a welcoming, diverse and caring group of people.
After we took some time to learn more in-depth about the Presbyterian Church itself— its history, doctrines and beliefs, and were okay with what we learned, we felt like we were ready to sit down for some one-on-one time with Pastor Ben. We wanted to talk about formally joining the church and share our upcoming excitement of wanting to be married there.
I’ll never forget that first meeting. We gathered in his office to talk and get to know each other better. He answered our remaining questions about the Presbyterian Faith, and we answered his about our lives and future plans.
Near the end of our conversation, he said he had to share something with us. He said he was in the process of being considered for a Call to another church. While he said that nothing was for sure, he felt telling us was the ethical thing to do.
Even though we were just getting to know Pastor Ben, and Foothill itself, I have to admit my heart sank. I knew in just that short time that Pastor Ben was someone special, and I already found myself missing what I hadn’t even been able to experience yet.
As it turns out, Pastor Ben didn’t get that Call and remained at Foothill for another eight years. He was able to marry us and share in many more meaningful moments as our spiritual leader and friend. I can’t help but think, somewhat selfishly, that him remaining at Foothill really worked out for Drew and me. I hope he also feels it worked out to be a good thing for himself, too. Or at least everything worked out just the way it was supposed to.
STORY NUMBER FOUR: MEETING DR. ROOKS:
The last example of serendipity in my life might be the most consequential. In my early 20’s, I had a major medical crisis. For many reasons that aren’t pertinent to this story, I found myself in an emergency room with acute respiratory failure. Doctors told my parents the best chance I had for short-term survival and long-term recovery was to have a tracheostomy.
For anyone who doesn’t consume many medical dramas on tv, a tracheostomy is an incision in the windpipe where doctors connect a ventilator to help you breathe. It’s surgery and, as such, comes with its risks and possible complications. My parents were scared for me and hesitant to consent, but thankfully they listened to my sister, who said I would want them to do whatever it took. So they said yes to the procedure.
The doctor on call that night was an ENT named Dr. James Rooks. He didn’t know me at all before getting that request to come into work, and I didn’t know him. That is how it goes in emergencies. You get who you get. There is no time for referrals, reference checks, or even a courtesy hello.
It wasn’t until after Dr. Rooks had completed my successful tracheostomy that he came out to the waiting area to brief my parents on how everything went. After introducing himself, he noted that my last name (my maiden name) is Lindstrom. “Do you happen to be John Lindstrom?” he asked, turning to my father. “Yes, I’m John,” my dad replied. “Were you in the Air Force?” Dr. Rooks asked.
From there, the conversation became somewhat of a reunion of sorts. It turns out that Dr. Rooks and my father served in Vietnam at the same time. My dad was flying planes as a fighter pilot while Dr. Rooks was working as a medic on the ground. Their paths crossed again years later when they both belonged to the same Rotary Club in my home town.
Dr. Rooks explained to my parents that due to the small size of my neck, the procedure he did on me rivaled in difficulty to those he did for soldiers on the battlefields of Vietnam.
While I know Dr. Rooks would have been a professional and delivered the highest quality of care for me regardless of the connection to my father, I am convinced that having that connection positively impacted our relationship. I was my father’s living legacy, a man he greatly respected. And the qualities he saw in my dad he saw in me, which, as it happens, helped in my recovery in more ways than words can truly articulate.
After almost a month in the intensive care unit, I gained enough strength to have the trach removed. Dr. Rooks came to me and explained the risks and benefits of keeping it and/or having it removed. He said the decision was mine. Even though I didn’t know what precisely the future was for my health, I trusted him, and I myself even more to know that I didn’t need the trach anymore. I said I wanted it taken out.
He honored his promise to fully support my decision. Still, he said that because of the higher risks involved in my case, he wanted to do it in an operating room with an anesthesiologist present. I’ll never forget that experience. How cold the room was. How bright the lights were. Even though I knew I was making the right choice, I couldn’t help but see his fears and anxieties for me reflected in his eyes looking back at me from above.
“You shouldn’t feel any pain,” he explained. I’m going to snip these stitches and pull out the trach tube. “You might feel some air rushing through the hole, but that is normal,” he said. “We will cover it with gauze, and it will heal and close on its own. If you want to speak, just reach up and cover the hole with your finger.”
And he was right. It didn’t hurt at all. What I was anticipating taking forever was over in just a few minutes. The fear in his eyes quickly turned to astonishment. He couldn’t believe it— given everything I had been through over the last few weeks, how well I seemed to be doing. The young woman who was on death’s door when he first met me then proceeded to ask this as her first post-tracheostomy words:
“When can I get a cheeseburger?”
He immediately laughed. The levity in the room dissipated any remaining uncertainty that had lingered.
“You are amazing,” he said. “You really are a Lindstrom.”
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And there you have it. A small set of examples where I feel like serendipity played a fundamental role in affecting the trajectory of my life. Who needs luck when everything happens the way it was supposed to in the first place?
