Oh, Thank Me Lucky Stars

I was a very superstitous kid. Everything had meaning and purpose to me. I had rituals. I can't remember all of them, but I recall that every night after saying Shema, I would kiss my necklace right on the magen David to protect me in my sleep (the necklace had been my maternal great-grandmother's).

Last week, my hairdresser proved herself frummer than me. She's not an O-girl, not even Jewish! But she said to me, "I love this skirt and it covers my knees, but not when I sit. I've been thinking that maybe I should add a layer of lace. What do you think?" I thought it was refreshing to meet someone who believed in what they were doing, but just told her that it was a cool idea. I don't know many O-girls who care so much for covering their knees and I took it as real mussar from a very odd place.

This morning, I got my umpteenth compliment on one of the necklaces I made. I was sitting in the chair at the dentist, and when I told the hygienist that I made it, she told me that I have to make more and sell them.
"My girlfriend used to work and then made a few necklaces. She sent them to a boutique in Manhattan and they called her up. The necklaces went for about $60 and $80. You have talent--you should try too. Now she just makes necklaces and sells them."

I've started seeing signs in everything again. Tara gave me mussar without even knowing. Well, I'm not much more tznius than I was before, but I remembered what it means to care. I also feel like everyone is encouraging me to sell my necklaces. (Well, okay, aside from the hygienist, it's really just my cousin, mother, grandmother, and a friend.)

I've been thinking a lot about how superstitious I find myself becoming again. See, one of my prof's gave me an A- and I didn't even do the final paper. It made me think about all the mazal I've been feeling recently and then I was thinking that maybe I'm in a moment of luck and I should take advantage of that by going out and meeting some tall, curly haired guy with brains who'll fall madly in love with me and want to have a family with me (note to gym crush if you're reading this: I'm talking to you). Or perhaps I should go buy myself a lottery ticket and win so that I can tell my father to stop worrying about me making money...or not making money. Anyway, the point of all this is that I don't know what the hell I'm talking about.