Yesterday was my fifty-third birthday. After a lifetime of living at or below poverty’s edge (sometimes way below!), over the last year or so I’ve really been taking steps to understand why and shift the pattern.
I realized that (as so many things are) it was a pattern set up in childhood. My parents would often have things that were for them and not for me or my siblings. Some made sense – like not being able to have alcohol like my father on New Year’s Eve. Others made less sense – not being included when my parents and my older cousin and her husband laughed and played canasta late into the night, then, the next morning, seeing the sad crusts of the pizza they’d had and not shared (we kids didn’t get pizza very often).
But the thing that really drove home the message was when we’d make the hour-long drive home from my grandmother’s house. She lived in an apartment, and there was little to do there. She had a cat, but he was mean (she wasn’t very nice to him). We kids were expected to stay quietly in the living room while my parents and grandmother visited in the kitchen. There were books, but I wasn’t allowed to read them until I was much older.
The food wasn’t good; my grandmother didn’t cook well, and there was often cat hair in the dishes she made.
As a little girl, it was always a relief to leave, though I was terrified of going down the steep, creaking staircase to get back to the sidewalk.
Then we’d stop at the Dog Shack – a place where you could get 3 mini chili dogs for $.99. And my parents would buy six hot dogs, with chili and onions.
And eat them all, my mother feeding my father bites as he drove, the scent of those treats making my mouth water and my stomach rumble.
For the first few years of my life, there were three kids. I was the third, less than four years younger than the oldest.
For an extra dollar, each kid could have had something to eat, too.
Instead, I absorbed a message I’m only now really becoming aware of:
“That’s not for you.”
I am now intentionally taking steps to shift that message, and tell myself, “It’s all for me, if I want it!”
And that’s what led me from admiring the turquoise plate under my biz coach’s lunch (which she shared on Facebook), to exploring the price of Fiestaware settings, and then posting this a week ago
I’ve been practicing giving the Universe little hints about things I’d love in my life (material, experiences, clients, and otherwise).
My birthday is a week from today, so I’m letting the Universe know I’d love to have this three-piece bistro set in turquoise, cobalt, and twilight.
It’s kind of a way for me to celebrate this transition year when Jayden turned 18 and Miah turns 21. For the family, we mostly use Corelle, but these colors and the style delight me, and I love the idea of letting the other dishes move away with my young humans when they’re ready to leave.
Hey Britt, look at me, asking the Universe for stuff I want, because it IS for me!
Now, I could have bought these dishes for myself – one setting at a time, most likely, but I could have done it. There was discomfort and guilt in asking, as though I didn’t have the right to ask the Universe publicly for gifts I really want.
But within 26 hours, three people told me that a set was coming my way. And on Thursday and Friday, cobalt, twilight, and turquoise place settings were literally delivered to my doorstep.
It’s almost magickal… Ask, and your wish will be granted….
They are for me. Because I asked. Because people who love me wouldn’t have known I wanted them if I hadn’t.
It’s a small thing, and a huge one, at the same time!