Eleven Eleven, Eleven/Eleven/Eleven

I have been waiting for this day for fifteen years, FIFTEEN years.

When i was 12 and in 7th grade, making a wish at 11:11 was a huge deal. For realz. We’d all announce it to each other- “it’s 11:11, make a wish!” and we would. And I’m sure we all (or at least I did anyway) made really stupid wishes, but yet I’m sure they’re not that different than those I make now- with or without the magical presence of the clock ticking 11:11. I no longer wish that so and so likes me, or that I’ll (finally) get my first period like the rest of my girl friends. (Although, now that I think about it, women all over the world are praying that they’ll get it. Not because they’re the only one who’s not a woman yet, but because they don’t want to be knocked up by that asshole they’re kinda seeing.) In fact, I’d love to not worry about my period. I hate forgetting tampons and having to call my bf Cary to bring me some- that sucks. Plus, they’re super expensive if you think about it in the long run. ANYWAY, my point is that I’m not that different than I was at 12. I still wish for things like “please let me pass this test” or “please let the teacher not notice me and therefore not call on me” and “please let me be happy”. The last one is the big one. I wish for happiness a lot. I did then too.

So, fifteen years ago, when it felt like the magic of 11:11 could possibly be real, I started thinking about the big one: November 11th, 2011- 11:11 11/11/11. I remember thinking that it was weird that I’d be 27, but that anything I wished for that day would have to come true. It would HAVE to.

So, when 11:11 rolled around today, I made a wish. But I was in class, and I don’t remember what I wished for. Crazy, huh? I mean, this literally just happened and I can’t recall the wish. Maybe it’s better that way. My subconscious remembers, but I don’t. Belief requires conviction and I’d like to think I have enough. Truth be told, for the most part, I’m really happy- content even. I still suffer from bouts of despair and the fear that I’m not good enough. I worry less about failure and more about mediocrity, though. I worry about money, whether or not I’m employable, the future- everything really. I’m a worrier, have been for years, and this won’t change. But I have a burning desire for happiness and and the magic of 11:11 was never the combination of numbers, but the belief that it could happen. Now, at 27, I have more than belief, I have conviction.



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