Serendipity: A Raffle, A Stone, And Two Singles

When the worst of the anger finally starts to burn off, it leaves the air clear enough for you to actually pay attention to the connections the universe is laying out. I wrote about that at length in the post about our vacation that was long overdue, but this is an update to let me know that it’s still going strong.

Recently, I’ve started local networking in earnest. Today, that meant a breakfast meeting with the Summerville Kiwanis Club. I walked in as the guest speaker, reconnected with one person I’ve already met along the way (not the person who invited me), and met a group of people involved in helping charities succeed in helping children and communities. A couple of years ago, I would have declined an invitation like this. But the mission demands growth, so there I was.

Before it was time for me to speak, they ran a local raffle. All I had in my wallet was a twenty, so I said, "Why not?" and threw it in. That bought me about 30 of the 40-ish tickets in the bucket.

Just before they pulled the winner, I decided to tell the group a story about raffles, improbable odds, and serendipity. I told them about our Breaking the Silence festival, and about Kairi—a girl who had lost her father to suicide, whose mother had been asking him for a sign, and who subsequently stepped on stage and drew her own ticket out of a well-shaken cup of 130 tickets to win a signed guitar. Yes, I know that’s supposed to recuse anyone whose ticket was in the cup, but I watched that she was looking away from the cup and could not have seen her own ticket until she had drawn.

Then, the Kiwanis bucket was passed, and my ticket was pulled. Given the odds, my winning wasn't the surprising part. What happened next was the weird part. Their winner doesn't just get a prize; they have to draw a stone from a bin to determine what that prize is. I reached in and pulled out a green stone.

Maybe from the Emerald City?

Okay, probably not. But still, Serendipity was speaking to me. I was thinking that it would be interesting if, against odds, I didn’t win the raffle. I would’ve simply pointed out that the odds aren’t always the rule, but it was about to get a little more “coincidental.”

Green is my favorite color. It is also the universal color for mental health awareness. Sure, just a coincidence.

That specific green stone dictated my prize: $2. They handed me two crisp one-dollar bills, and we went back to our breakfasts. I figured it was just an amusing coincidence, put the singles in my pocket, and waited for my turn to speak. Then the meeting moved to a tradition called "One Good, One Bad." I had no idea what it was, but the rules were quickly explained: you pay $1 to the group to share something bad, and you pay $1 to share something good.

Suddenly, I had two singles burning a hole in my pocket.

If I hadn't played that raffle, I only would have had a twenty. I likely would have skipped the tradition entirely to avoid the awkwardness of asking for $18 in change. I had drawn a stone without knowing if the prize was a puppy, a tin whistle, or a gift card. It was exactly two dollars. The universe had literally handed me exact change. That was my sign to participate in the conversation. How could I ignore a sign placed that directly in front of me?

I threw down the first dollar for the Bad: I didn't want to be here. Two years ago, I would have isolated myself and declined this invitation.

I threw down the second dollar for the Good: Serendipity.

When they fully gave me the floor at the end of the meeting, that serendipity fueled the pitch. In the space of ten minutes, I covered the entire timeline—from the COVID isolation, to the DD2 meetings, to our tragedy, the lawsuit, and the recovery. But I was able to frame all of that heavy history through the lens of positive advocacy and our next major objective: securing corporate sponsorships for the movement.

I walked out of that breakfast realizing that my path forward isn't just about fighting the system from the outside. It's about building from within. I'm going to become a functional member of their club. I’m going to help drive participation for their upcoming event and the NAMI Festival for Hope.

I’m still not entirely sure where all of this goes, but I am finally paying close attention to the connections.

The universe is doing the math, and if you’re paying attention you’ll be ready for the toll booth. All we have to do is show up and pay the toll; they appreciate exact change.