Posted by Elizabeth

Maikael slipped through the door, a brisk fall evening pushing in behind him as he cradled a vintage silk blouse that I had spilled pumpkin gelato on a few days earlier.  He hung the blouse, shrouded in plastic draping, in the closet and settled in next to me on the sofa.  “I had an interesting conversation with Frank today,” he said.  This is not news to me.  Maikael is always having interesting conversations with Frank, our drycleaner.  A wisp of a man with a goatee and fading New York accent, Maikael discusses all manner of deep and weighty topics with him between selecting starch levels and pinpointing stains.  I’m honestly not sure how Maikael manages to learn so much about him in the course of a brief business transaction, but over the past five years I’ve come to learn that Frank is an interesting guy.  He’s traveled extensively.  His sister is Liz Tuccillo, co-author of He’s Just Not That in to You (how and why this came up in conversation, I have no idea). And he’s a modern day philosopher.

“I can’t remember how we got on the topic, but Frank said he was traveling through India on a ‘spiritual quest.’  He was walking down the street in Calcutta, where he was staying at a Buddhist monastery, and all of a sudden ‘He’ spoke to him.”

“Wait,” I interrupt.  “Like ‘He’ as in God-He?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Like, Christian-God-He or Buddhist-Shakyamuni-He?”

Maikael paused.  “Well, I don’t know.  He was practicing Buddhism at the time, but has since converted to Christianity, so I’m not sure.  In any event, He spoke to him.”

“What did He say?” I ask.

“No place is better than any other place.”

I stare at Maikael for a moment.  Just that morning at the breakfast table, we had been debating the relative merits of living in different places.  We had more or less reached the conclusion that different places offer different pros and cons; the key is knowing which things are important to you and which things aren’t.

“Whoa,” I said to Maikael.  “Is that a message from the universe or what?”

“Yeah, I know,” he said.  “It was so bizarre.”

“So what did he do?”

“Even though he was only half way through his journey, he packed his bags and went home.  He figured he learned what he needed to on his quest, and that the message was that he should go home.”

“Yeah,” I said, “like whatever he needed to learn he could learn anyplace, perhaps maybe best at home.”

*  *  *

As I see it, Frank the Philosopher/Drycleaner’s story presents a primer for the student who is trying to live her life in pencil.  There are, by my estimation, three important lessons to be learned here.  Can you see them?  Give up?  Allow me to elaborate:

Lesson #1:  Sometimes it’s okay to abandon the best-laid plans

A major component of learning to live a life in pencil is knowing when to stop traveling down the path you’ve been traveling; in Frank’s case, that message was literal.  Sometimes things that worked once, or seemed like a good idea at the time, cease to be.  It’s as simple as that.  I’m always amazed by how long people are willing to stay in situations that aren’t necessarily wrong or bad, but just aren’t right for them.  I remember countless career counseling clients, students who were failing their math courses but were bound and determined to stick with their dreams of being an engineer because “that’s what I’ve always wanted to be.”  Even though they hated math, even though they despised their pre-engineering courses, they held onto the plan with an iron grip because it was the plan. It’s not about giving up on onself so much as it’s about recognizing which plans are worth giving up.  Just because you made a plan doesn’t mean you need to follow it to the grave.  How easy it would have been for Frank to brush aside the message and say, “You know, I spent all this money to come to India and stay in a Buddhist monastery, and damnit, I’m not leaving until it’s over!”  Think about your own life:  is there a situation you’re currently in that has reached its prime, but you’re too afraid to leave because you’re “committed” to the plan?

Lesson #2:  The closer we get to ourselves, the clearer the answers become

Since I was a little girl, I’ve always enjoyed being out in the world more than I’ve enjoyed being at home.  I clearly recall long days spent shopping or at a museum with my mother, the consummate introvert, who must have found these marathon outings purely exhausting.  I was always begging to stay longer, and five minutes after we returned home I was whining about going out again.  I really could have used a sibling to play with, being an extroverted only child, but I quickly had to learn to entertain myself.  I thank long, rainy afternoons afternoons at home for my (overly) active imagination and a general awareness of myself.  Being out in the world is still fun for me, but it’s when I stop moving that I listen and learn.  I think it’s telling in Frank’s story that he received the “burning bush” message not at the monastery in the midst of a spiritual exercise, but walking down the street, in humble surroundings, in the midst of the most mundane task.  And where was he advised to go to continue finding answers?  Home.

Lesson #3:  Synchronicity is nearly always right

When I was in 12^th grade, my English teacher taught my class how to examine literature for hidden meanings.  “There are all sorts of clues,” she said, “if you just know where to look for them.  For example, if you see something mentioned once, it’s a coincidence.  Twice, there’s probably something more there.  And three times is the equivalent of a flashing neon sign.”  That, in a nutshell, is synchronicity, and it’s the same in life as in literature.  I am constantly struck by the different ways in which the universe is speaking to me, lessons often appearing when I am ready and need them most.  For Maikael, Frank’s story was a major synchronous moment.  He needs to pay close attention to messages that might be coming into his life about the meaning of home.  Sometimes it’s as simple as a billboard that says, “Digging Deeper,” like I saw two weeks ago.  Usually, if we’re paying attention, the answer will present itself.  Seriously.  I’ve seen this happen time and again.  And when the answer appears, we need to be ready to act.  Synchronicity does us no good if we take in the information and simply say, “Huh, isn’t that funny?” But “collecting” those synchronous events gives us time to prepare for action.  We’re usually ready when the time is right.

What lessons do you see in Frank’s story?  Do you have philosophical discussions with your drycleaner?  Because I’m just sorta wondering if we’re the only ones out there, or if there’s, like, a League of Drycleaner Philosophers.