Synchronicity of Events: A Time to Pause, Break, and Listen

Sometimes it feels like there’s a silent timer running in the background of your life — ticking down without warning. You ignore it to protect your sanity, tell yourself to push through. But eventually, the signs become too loud to ignore, and the truth sets in: you’ve been steering straight into a storm you didn’t want to admit was forming.

Let me reel back.

Three weeks ago, I was preparing to teach the HSAD stone carving course — a full class, heavy trailer, and more than enough material to cover. But just before it began, I was hit with the lingering effects of hand, foot, and mouth disease, followed by a strange, throbbing foot issue that left me sweating through the night.

Still, I pushed through. Taught through the pain. Walked like I had no toes. I finally got checked at the hospital — they ruled out anything major and handed me Advil. The pain didn’t go away. More symptoms followed. At a walk-in clinic, I requested a Lyme test. It was dismissed.

And then — everything changed.

Six days ago, I walked into the ER with an alarmingly low heart rate. One look at the monitor, and I was rushed straight through triage. No delay. No doubt. IVs, monitors, wires — a full emergency response. I had entered a life-threatening third-degree heart block. It wasn’t a full stop, but it was a hard slowdown. One I couldn’t ignore anymore.

And honestly? I’d seen it coming.

The day before the hospital, I was riding my bike with my daughter. I noticed my front derailleur cable wasn’t shifting properly. When I checked it, it was frayed — down to one remaining strand out of ten. One more shift, and it would’ve snapped. I stood there, staring at it.

I was the cable. Hanging on by a thread.

I often pay attention to these things — synchronicities, symbolic echoes in the physical world. This time, I nearly missed the message. This breakdown didn’t just happen. It had been quietly manifesting for weeks — maybe longer.

Now, in the stillness of recovery, I feel something else forming.

The test results for Lyme are still pending. If they come back positive, we’re on the path to recovery. If not, there’s more to uncover. Either way, something inside me is changing. I can feel it. My pace. My attention. My understanding of what’s worth pushing through — and what’s not.

This hasn’t been easy. I’ve missed work. Lost income. I’ve even seriously questioned whether I should pause stone carving altogether for a while — not from defeat, but from intuition. I’ve been forcing things lately. Going into the studio after night shifts. Rushing delayed projects. Ignoring my body’s quiet warnings.

And now, I’m listening.

So I offer this to you:

Pause.

Reflect.

What in your life is frayed down to one last strand? What are you pushing through that maybe — just maybe — needs to be surrendered?

We are not alone in this. We’re threads in the same fabric — woven through timing, circumstance, and shared experience. Sometimes the breakdown is the only way forward.

Right now, I feel deeply supported by those closest to me. I feel the version of myself I’ve known slipping away… and something new forming in its place. My art will change with me. So will my path.

Let’s pay attention — before life forces us to.

Let’s move forward — not perfectly, but intentionally.

We’re in this together.