What If Lightning Strikes Twice?

We have all heard that lightning doesn't strike twice.

Except, of course, it does.

And perhaps life does, too.

I believe people change. They grow. They gain perspective. Sometimes they look back at something they once had and finally understand its value in a way they simply couldn't understand while they were living it.

Sometimes the timing was wrong.

Sometimes fear won.

Sometimes life was complicated.

And sometimes two perfectly good people simply weren't ready for the same thing at the same time.

But what happens if, years later, life circles back?

Would you have the courage to try again?

I don't mean only in love. It could be a career you walked away from, an old hobby you adored, a city you once called home, a dream you quietly put on a shelf, or something entirely new that you've wanted for years but have been too afraid to attempt.

Reaching for almost anything we really want carries risk.

We might fail.

We might look foolish.

We might hear no.

We might get our hearts broken.

And so sometimes we choose the safety of not knowing over the vulnerability of finding out.

But there is another possibility.

It might work.

That possibility doesn't get nearly enough attention.

Think about the courage it takes for someone to walk across a room and ask another person out. Rejection is a very real possibility. Yet somewhere, every day, someone takes that chance—and the person they hoped would say yes actually says yes.

One small act of courage can alter the trajectory of two lives.

That's rather extraordinary when you think about it.

Of course, I don't believe every door deserves to be reopened simply because it once mattered to us.

Some endings protect us.

If a relationship involved abuse, repeated betrayal, ongoing infidelity, manipulation, or intentional harm, leaving may have been the courageous act. Getting away from someone who repeatedly chooses personal gratification while knowingly causing you pain is not something I would romanticize as "bad timing."

Some doors should remain closed.

But then there are other relationships.

The ones where nobody was cruel.

Nobody was dangerous.

Nobody stopped caring.

Life simply didn't cooperate.

Those are different.

And those are the ones that sometimes make me wonder whether lightning really can strike twice.

There has only been one person in my life with whom I felt entirely comfortable simply being myself—living together, sharing ordinary days, and existing without feeling that I needed to be anything other than exactly who I was.

I miss him.

I still tell him I love him before I go to sleep sometimes.

He can't hear me.

But for more than four years, he has held a place in my heart. I don't know whether that means I haven't completely recovered, haven't completely let go, or perhaps haven't completely given up hope.

Maybe it is a little of all three.

And I'm okay not knowing.

Because I've reached a point in my life where I don't know whether I'm ready to date anyone again anyway.

My life is already quite full.

I have a granddaughter who has completely rearranged my understanding of love. I am ridiculously excited that soon I get her all to myself for an entire week. I hope there will be more grandchildren someday, but if she were my only grandchild forever, she would still be more than enough.

She is one of the greatest joys of my life.

And yet sometimes I imagine another possibility.

Perhaps one day I will be lucky enough to fall deeply in love again. Perhaps he will have children and grandchildren of his own. Perhaps suddenly my family will become bigger in a way I never could have planned.

Oh, wouldn't that be lovely?

That's the thing about leaving a little room in our lives for the unknown.

We have absolutely no idea what might wander into that space.

I'm standing in several of those spaces right now.

I'm trying to write a book, something I've imagined myself doing many times over the years—just never quite this book.

This particular story grew unexpectedly from reflecting on some significant events that unfolded during the first half of this year. Somewhere in the exhausting process of trying to understand them, a story began taking shape. Now I'm working to find that delicate place where something can remain emotionally true while the story itself becomes fiction.

Perhaps that's part of writing, too. Sometimes we choose the story we want to tell, and sometimes a story seems to choose us.

My professional life is changing, too.

I'm thinking about what I want the next chapter of my career to look like and even where I might want to live later next year.

There are a lot of question marks.

And strangely, I kind of like them.

Because isn't that sometimes the fun of being alive?

Things change.

We change.

Plans change.

People surprise us.

We surprise ourselves.

Maybe the great mistake is believing that uncertainty is something we are supposed to eliminate. Perhaps uncertainty is where some of life's best stories begin.

It makes me think of all those movie endings we love.

Richard Gere climbing the fire escape in Pretty Woman.

Jake Ryan waiting outside the church in Sixteen Candles.

Completely unrealistic?

Maybe.

But we love those scenes because somewhere inside us is the belief that occasionally somebody actually does show up.

Somebody takes the chance.

Somebody risks hearing no.

Somebody decides that what they might gain is worth the possibility of getting hurt.

And sometimes the answer is yes.

Right now, I have plenty to look forward to. A week with my sweet granddaughter. Another European adventure later next month, barring one of life's famous last-minute plot twists. A book that is slowly finding its way onto the page. A career that is shifting. A future home I haven't chosen yet.

And maybe some things I don't even know to look forward to yet.

I think that last category might be my favorite.

Because having something ahead of us matters.

Something to anticipate.

Something to wonder about.

Something that makes us curious about tomorrow.

It gives us another reason to wake up, show up, keep going, keep dreaming, and occasionally do something that scares us a little.

Maybe lightning strikes twice.

Maybe it doesn't.

Maybe the person we once loved finds his way back.

Maybe someone entirely unexpected walks into our life.

Maybe we finally write the book.

Take the trip.

Change careers.

Move somewhere new.

Pick up the paintbrush, guitar, pickleball paddle, or dream we abandoned years ago.

Or maybe life gives us something wonderful that isn't even on our list yet.

We don't get to know in advance.

But perhaps that's the point.

The safest life would be one in which we never risked rejection, disappointment, heartbreak, embarrassment, or failure.

It would also be a terribly small life.

So maybe courage isn't believing everything will work out exactly as we hope.

Maybe courage is knowing that it might not—and deciding that some possibilities are still worth reaching for.

Keep a little room for lightning.

And if you see it coming?

Perhaps don't run quite so fast.🐝

Honey Note 🍯

Maybe we aren't meant to know which chances will change our lives. We only get to decide whether we're brave enough to take them.

Some doors are meant to stay closed. Some dreams deserve another try. And every once in a while, something—or someone—we thought belonged to another chapter finds a way back into the story.

So build a life you love. Fill it with people, places, and adventures that make you happy.

Keep dreaming new dreams. But perhaps leave just a tiny bit of room for the unexpected.

You never know.

Lightning might be looking for you, too. ⚡️🐝

Still believing in second chances, unexpected chapters, ridiculously romantic movie endings…and the possibility that lightning knows exactly where to strike. ⚡️❤️

🍯Honey 🐝