It was Carl Jung who first coined the term, ‘synchronicity’ to describe meaningful coincidences in our lives.
Many years ago, I took a group of students to the Isle of Wight collecting specimens. As I reversed the university’s minibus on a forest trail miles from any road, it fell over a concrete lip so that one of the rear wheels was suspended over a deep ditch. We piled out and some of the students tried valiantly to prop it up. It was a hopeless task, and I began to contemplate a long hike to a telephone (this was pre-mobiles), knowing that the AA would not help as we were on private land. At that moment, over the brow of the hill came the Weston-Super-Mare Tug of War team on a ‘training camp’ for the weekend. Minutes later, they had lifted the minibus and put it back on the track. This is, to me, an example of synchronicity.
If you believe in a supernatural being, then they were surely looking over us that afternoon.
Not all coincidences have such a practical bent. Some are described by believers in a ‘universe’, as providing a nod in our direction when we are making significant changes in our lives. They represent, such folk say, a gentle endorsement (or the opposite) for our course of action.
This week, I am in transition. I left one job (on the 1st) and am about to start another (on the 4th). The one I am leaving was something I enjoyed enormously but I had become concerned that the organisation was not aligned to my personal values. I don’t know if the new one will be any better, but it felt right to move on.
Yesterday, the 3rd of May, would have been my mother’s 93rd birthday. She died 9 years ago, just a couple of months after I had started the job that I am now leaving. Her first name was Betty – not short for Elisabeth, which caused some trouble for her at school where they wanted her to conform to their own expectations of children’s names!
In the afternoon, we went for a walk along the towpath of the Oxford Canal which runs close to home. While there are some boats that moor up permanently or, at least, for prolonged periods, there are others that pass through stopping only for an evening before continuing their journey. One such boat, heading south tonight, had chosen an idyllic spot and the solo female navigator had popped her deckchair on a concrete platform overlooking the adjacent River Cherwell and was making a roll-up, chatting on her tablet, and enjoying the setting sun over the valley.
It’s hard to see on this photograph, but the boat’s name was… Betty.
