I used to make decisions based on signs; I swore by them.
Signs I somehow justified to be from God.
Like, when I decided to attend college as a pre-med, refusing to declare any major other than something medically related. I had gone through a fair share of injuries as a competitive athlete, and that was a sign destining me to fulfill my calling as an orthopedic surgeon. And then there were those times I would drive on the freeway and see cars passing by—same model and make as the boy I was hardcore liking. It was an obvious sign not to give up on the relationship even though he claimed he never liked me back. And then there were those conditions where I would decide that him and I needed space, so I would intentionally stop sending him text messages and refuse to be the one to initiate conversation. But if he eventually did text or call me about something and wanted to hang out, then it was a clear sign that we were still supposed to talk.
I think about those situations now, and all I can think about how silly I was being. My naivety game was real strong. And so along the way, I’ve learned that you can’t always base life off of signs, and you sure as hell can’t navigate relationships because of some made up voices inside your head convincing you that maybe, just maybe he loved you and was just too afraid to fess up to it. Because let’s be real: He probably didn’t love you that much, if even at all.