The Universe Gave Me a Somatic Smackdown Before Coffee

Yesterday morning, the universe handed me a master class in “old patterns you thought you’d retired,” and it did it with the kind of efficiency that would impress even the most seasoned project manager. First the power went out, and my wife shot out of bed like someone had announced a portal closing. Then came the throat‑clearing — loudly, repeatedly — the kind of sound that makes you think she needs a glass of water, a humidifier, or possibly a new windpipe. And I, being the embodiment of morning grace, snapped, “Drink some water!”

Instantly my nervous system did that tiny clench — the one that whispers, Oh look, we’re doing that again — and shit, it woke up that inner critic who loves to remind me how enlightened I am not.

Then her former coworker called. Thirty years at her job, suddenly let go, and in a state I recognized immediately. Every suggestion, every possibility, every tiny glimmer of hope was met with a hard, door‑slamming NO. And in her voice, I heard the echo of myself years ago when I lost my own job and insisted I was “fine.” I was not fine. I was a full‑time NO machine. NO felt like control. NO felt like safety. NO felt like the only solid thing in the room. But really, it was just me shutting out anything unpredictable — including the good.

I got to work and asked a coworker how her cruise was — a cruise, mind you, a floating buffet of sunshine and questionable decisions — and she hit me with an avalanche of disasters. When I asked if anything good happened, she said, “No,” with the same desperation as the previous NO. Another slammed door. Another cosmic Post‑it note.

And that’s when it hit me: these weren’t random conversations. These were mirrors. The universe was screaming at me through two women who were clinging to NO like it was a life raft. They were showing me what it looks like when NO becomes a survival strategy — when shutting out the good feels safer than letting in anything unpredictable. Because possibilities feel like danger when you’re already in the spin.

And I realized I’d been doing a quieter version of the same thing around this upcoming family trip. Not in a dramatic meltdown way — more like a subtle internal tightening, the kind you don’t notice until the universe sends you a three‑part tutorial. I’d slipped into the state of have to — the state where the lens narrows, the world shrinks, and everything starts to feel like a burden.

The body always knows the Truth. This No that shuts the door that smugges the lens feels like control. But, NO, constricts, it tightens. No braces for the worst. No narrows our view unitl we can only see what is wrong.

YES doesn’t fix everything, but it creates space — space for grace, space for breath, space for possibilities.

And that’s the real lesson the universe was yelling at me: you create your reality by the lens you use. Old patterns feel comfortable and safe, even when they’re not. Opening to possibility can feel terrifying when you’re already braced for impact.

But misery and magic are always both available — and the lens decides which one you can see.

So here’s where I landed: I’m not pretending everything is bliss. I am choosing to let the light in even if it seems infinately blinding. I’m choosing to soften the old reflex, to unclench the jaw, to open the door instead of guarding it. I’m choosing the pattern that lets me step toward possibility instead of hiding from it.

The universe may shout — but the courage to walk into the unknown with a clean lens? That part is pure magic, and it’s mine.

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The Universe Gave Me a Somatic Smackdown Before Coffee