Date With Destiny (Jenny Jan 31)

Sometimes, when you look back and try to find the beginning of something, the turning point, it's hard to see. Life is full of currents and co-incidences, intentions and initiatives. Who can really say what causes anything to begin?

But sometimes, the cause is right there, sticking out so large and bold that no matter from how far in the future we look back, we will never have a moment's doubt as to the cause of our current state of being.

My iPhone buzzing in my pocket, summoning me to a weekly relationships discussion, can be traced directly back to a pay phone outside an Indian restaurant, long, long ago in what feels like a galaxy far, far away.

It rang.

That's it. Just ringing there, on a cool March evening. Startling at first - a pay phone? Haven't seen one of those for a while. Imagine one on a quiet suburban street like this. Where is Michael, anyway?

It rang.

I hate waiting. I was used to it by then, having dated Michael for three years, but I still hated it. I wish that phone would shut up.

It rang.

Poignant, really, when you think of it. On the other end of that phone, someone is waiting, wondering if they are important enough to warrant the attention of someone they love. Wondering if they will ever come first in his - or her - priorities. Wondering why there's nobody there when they reach out. Wondering how to break through. Wondering how much longer it's worth holding on.

It rang.

How long until it rings out? This is driving me batty.

I moved a little further away.

It rang.

We looked at one another, then, the phone and me. Come on, it said, what have you got to lose?

Before I dated Michael, before I dated Richard, when I think about it, back then I would have answered it already. It was a bit of a shock to admit it, but I had definitely become a bit prissy in my new-found maturity. I looked back at the phone, feeling a slightly flirtatious twist to my head.

It rang.

Why not? It said. You know you want to.

I sidled closer, feeling the argument between the shoulds and my essential nature, knowing that in the final analysis, my loyalty would always be to myself.

It rang.

I was close enough to smell it now, plasticky and slightly old, close enough to feel the vibrations on my skin.

Dance with me, it sang. Swing out and dance.

I fell.

"Alternate reality," I breathed into the mouthpiece. "How may I direct your life?"

There was a cascade of Asian syllables, then a pause.

"The door on the left? A fine choice," I soothed.

A few more Asian syllables, and the line went dead.

I hung up the phone slowly, feeling the pieces of my carefully-constructed social self floating gently outward on a river that would not be denied.

I never saw Michael again.

I went to the beach that evening, and danced in the waves until my clothes were soaked and my teeth chattered. I yelled at the stars, got sand in my stockings, and lost one of the ear-rings my grandmother bequeathed me as her eldest unmarried.

I drank hot chocolate from a machine in a 7-11, and left a trail of damp and sandy footprints on its floor.

And that was where it all began. I could bore you with the details of it all - my gorgeous, darling lover who could be with a supermodel his own age, but prefers my passion and authenticity to the neuroses of the twenty-somethings; the incredible power of Tantric energy work and my life as a mystic and healer; the books we have written, my lover and I, and the books we are yet to write - but the happy ending is never as interesting as the moment in time when it all pivoted on a single moment of choice.

The Universe held its breath.

And that damned pay phone just kept ringing.