Smack in the middle of my workday today, I was booted out by the cable men, ordained by the mighty landlord to come and install my non-existent cable. So, I decided to make an early break for the gym and returned about an hour and a half later to find them perched outside the entrance. The problem was, they’d parked their ladder smack in front of the doorway. Well, instead of walking underneath it – as would have been the obvious and most direct path – I chose to crawl sideways between one side of the ladder and the brick wall with which I shared a much too intimate few seconds. The point is, for the first time, it dawned on me, I may, in fact, be a little superstitious.
Now I say that I’m superstitious, but in fact, I pick and choose which words to live by. Selection is based on no logic I can identify, merely a random chosen few beliefs that have stuck with me for as long as I remember. I suppose we’re predisposed to believe in superstitions we were brought up with. For example, I am adamant about never, ever, putting new shoes on the table. This is thanks to my mom who, repeatedly, after returning from shopping trips into the city, would screech at me should my new purchases (in the form of footwear) come anyway near a counter top. I never quite understood the black cat one though, about not crossing it’s path. The way I figure, some cat has walked this path at some point in time, and thus trying to avoid the path of this particular one, will not change the end outcome in any way.
My most memorable encounter with a superstition that wasn’t my own was definitely the time I tried to organize a surprise birthday party for my husband during our time living in Munich. As a Canadian living abroad, I was ticked pink at the prospect of coordinating something as grandiose as a surprise party when I’d only met a handful of his friends more than once and still didn’t speak the language. Needless to say, my bubble was swiftly burst when more than one of his friends made comments about my organizing a birthday party for him before his actual birthday. I thought they were kidding, at first, but as it turns out Germans are quite superstitious about celebrating birthdays before they actually happen. I played the stubborn Canuck and insisted on continuing on as planned. Thankfully the party was a great success and my husband, well… he’s still here (knock on wood).