Fate is a stone cold sumbitch.

Normally, Fate tells you How It’s Going to Be, often in the form of a karmic email:

To whom it may concern:

Welcome to existence. You are here.

Find enclosed your race, gender, height, eye color, physical and emotional frailties and your lot in this place. Good luck with all that.

With utter indifference,

Fate

But sometimes, Fate slips up.

You see, Fate is lazy. Fate relies on odds. Fate prefers probabilities. And in that slipshod work ethic, Fate occasionally knocks on your door with a package, tosses it in your hands and says, “You deliver it. I’m busy.“

And the choice is yours, what happens to the package. Because Fate doesn’t give a shit what you do with it. As Fate said, it is busy delivering other destinies. It’s not going to tell you what to do with it, what’s at stake, or encourage you to follow one path over another. That’s up to you.

We usually realize the knock in retrospect: The job we didn’t take; the words we should have said; the boldness we meant to express.

And we tell ourselves: “Next time it knocks, I’m going to be ready. Enough with the missed opportunities.”

Did you hear that?

Fate’s knocking.

Who’s there?