Spirituality: An Anchor for a Broken Heart

I have to admit it: I got into spirituality because of a boy. Tangentially, at least.

It was the first time I had suffered romantic heartbreak, and though I was the one who broke it off, I wanted so badly for him to come after me.

I had been listening to a podcast where one of the hosts alluded to manifesting her boyfriend when he had once wanted nothing to do with her. Sounded like some kind of dark magic, but I was in.

So, I watched The Secret, read The Secret, practiced The Secret, became an ambassador to The Secret. I was a walking, talking manifestation machine.

For months, I tried so hard to use the law of attraction to bring him back. I imagined turning the corner onto my New York City block, spotting him from a distance. He’d be standing on my stoop with flowers, an “I’ve been an idiot smile,” and a rehearsed speech at the tip of his tongue.

But every day, the space in front of my door was occupied only by online shopping parcels.

No, I didn’t get the boy, nor do I want the boy anymore, but the experience reinforced the idea that everything, everything happens for a reason. That’s something I’ve always believed. 

My dad grew up in Soviet Russia. When he was about seven years old, my grandpa had saved enough money to buy a car with his best friend, Boris.

Luxuries like these were hard to come by in the USSR, so it was an exciting day when Boris pulled up to my dad’s house house to pick him up, along with my grandpa and uncle.

But just minutes before they were about to leave, my dad was caught playing with matches. Grandpa punished him by making him stay home.

With Boris in the driver’s seat and grandpa holding my two-year-old uncle on his lap in the passenger side—no seatbelts to be found—they went off. Not long into the ride, a large truck came hurdling toward them at full speed, T-boning the car and destroying the vehicle’s second row.

If my dad hadn’t misbehaved that day, he would have been sitting seatbeltless in the back seat of that car. He would have died on impact. I would have never been born, and so on and so forth. 

We all have a story like this, but the butterfly effect isn’t always life or death. Each one of us changes the course of our lives with every passing moment. Some say the decisions we make are part of the grander plan of fate, while others chalk it up to free will. I think it’s a combination of both.

I dove into the law of attraction and the power of positivity because I was in love with someone who was dating someone else. But instead of getting what I wanted, I got what I needed: belief.

I believe in the Universe and its powers and synchronicities and abilities to send us messages. I believe in spirit guides—you may know them as angels—and multiple lifetimes. I believe in the ability to communicate with those who have passed, or at least, their ability to communicate with us. I’ve never been a fan of religion, but I’ve always known there was a higher power. And this is how I choose to embrace it.

Now, I don’t expect the Universe to tell me to turn left instead of right. But in my experience, it will most definitely stop a risky text from going through as if to ask, “Are you sure you want to do this?” Yes. Send. 

So, back to the boy. He’s not important anymore, but I think that’s the point: Just because you ask the Universe for something doesn’t mean it will hand it over. If you’re not getting what you so desperately want, it’s time to ask yourself why you’re being protected from it. 

Once I dove into spirituality—my belief that the mind, body and soul are interconnected with the vibrational energy of the universe—I started to understand why things happened for me, not to me. I began to see patterns, trends and connections that drew a much larger map, one that helped me understand and cope with life’s letdowns and disappointments. 

The past 10 months have brought on a lot of struggle, hardship and grief. I will never understand why my beloved Daniela was taken from our family in March, nor will I try to explain it away with a greater meaning. I’d return every silver lining and lesson learned for her to be back at school, enjoying her senior year. I would give anything to have wished her a happy 22nd birthday in person.

But it is also my belief that we do a disservice to ourselves if we don’t at least try to learn something from our experiences. And with the power of positivity in tow, I’ve watched my life change in ways I thought were only possible in my dreams.