Faith and discomfort on the third rock from the sun.

Elena Tucker
4 min readJan 13, 2021
Photo by Shot by Cerqueira on Unsplash

My problem, … well …. one of my problems, has been the fact that I don’t believe that the universe is always for us. I believe that the universe is random and chaotic, and that it doesn’t give any fig, a flip, or a rat’s ass for the likes of us. Nor do I think it is bribable by prayer and wishes. The laws of physics are immutable, and this third rock from the sun is just that, a planet hurtling through space, with time (a concept we invented so the trains wouldn’t run into each other), around a star that is going to burn out eventually (though definitely not in our lifetime).

That’s why manifesting my own destiny seems to be more about working toward my goals rather than meditating on my goals. Don’t get me wrong — meditation or prayer, is wonderful. It reduces blood pressure, creates peace within, helps people live a longer, healthier and more focused life. But I can’t bring myself to believe that my meditation does anything else outside of myself — my internal wellbeing.

Again, I would love to believe — to have real faith and belief in a something like a deity. I would love to believe in a higher power. I would love to believe that the universe is out there to help us, although it implies that it is also out there to screw us.

We, the all the humans of this shared planet, are kind of like New Zealand. The Kiwis figured out fairly early on that they are far away from everyone — truly an island (or islands) unto themselves! So, they knew they had only themselves to take care of themselves, and they acted (and still act) accordingly. They recycle. They import deer to hunt and herd. They reversed their own deforestation. They now protect against invasive species. The rest of us have to figure out that the universe isn’t going to step in and rescue us, and that we have to do that ourselves. We, too, have to fix our own problems.

I’m pretty sure that the Budweiser beer people figured that out. That’s why they proclaim that Budweiser is “The King of Beers.” You get that it’s a title anyone can give to anything, it’s really difficult to dispute or even care too much about. I can call myself the Queen of Freedonia, but there are very probable consequences of me being put in a “special” hospital, if I go around doing that. But my point is, calling yourself anything —…

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Elena Tucker

Writer and storyteller, immigrant, wife, mom, knitter, collector of jokes, lover of cheap, sweet wine.