Bashert by Jamie Kirkpatrick

In case you missed it, last week’s Musing was about how I (we) found our home in Chestertown. I told you there was more. So, here we go: this week, I want to explore why I (we) have a home here. Stay with me…

Many years ago, I was introduced the concept of synchronicity. At the time, I had no word(s) to describe that mysterious concept, but now, thanks to the Swiss philosopher Carl Jung, I do. Synchronicity presupposes that remarkable coincides occur not by accident, but as a result of what Jung defined as “causal connecting principles.” In other words, there are no coincidences, no accidents; everything happens for a reason. Boiling that down to my (our) arrival in Chestertown, it just might be that I am (we are) here for a reason. That reason becomes the “why” of our time here.

Now let me introduce you to another concept and another word: bashert. Bashert is a Yiddish word that basically means destiny. Something that is bashert is preordained, inevitable. If our arrival and our life here is bashert, then there is a reason for my (our) years here. And that, my friends, is the great mystery I’m living in.

I once thought I (we) came here accidentally, but now I believe there was a reason this town and our little house found me (us). So, what is that reason? I have no clue. Yet.

Is it the friends I (we) have made here? That certainly could be, but that seems more of a by-product of my (our) good fortune. Does somehow the world change because we are here? That’s possible, but it’s also possible that I (we) may never know what that change was or will be. If that little butterfly flapping its wings down in the Amazon rain forest produces an effect on what happens along the banks of the Chester, then maybe, we will never know the bashert of why we are here. That thought both blows my mind and comforts me at the same time, but If I (we) are where I am (we are) supposed to be, then I’ll (we’ll) stay the course. All will be well.

Fatalistic, you say? No; not the same thing at all. Synchronicity, bashert, whatever you want to call that sublime force, is the antidote to the disease of fatalism. It’s the positive spin on the old idea that nothing matters. In fact, or so I (we) believe, everything matters! Life isn’t random; whether we know it or not, we are all here for a purpose.

Chestertown and the Eastern Shore have changed me. When I lived “over there,” I didn’t have much time to contemplate the “why” question. Like a driver on that infernal beltway, I went along with the constant steam of traffic. I was alert, but defensively so. Here, life isn’t quite so reactive. I have both the time and the means to muse about what it’s all about, Alfie. And that’s how I bumped into Jung’s concept of synchronicity and the Yiddish notion of bashert.

It’s possible that I’m here simply to write these Musings. I’ve been at this for almost eight years now. That’s 416 consecutive weeks of creating these little stories, and I’d like to think that somewhere during that time, there was, perhaps, that bashert moment when your life changed, if only for a heartbeat.

What do you think?

I’ll be right back.

Jamie Kirkpatrick is a writer and photographer who lives in Chestertown. His work has appeared in the Washington Post, the Baltimore Sun, the Philadelphia Inquirer, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, the Washington College Alumni Magazine, and American Cowboy Magazine. His new novel “This Salted Soil,” a new children’s book, “The Ballad of Poochie McVay,” and two collections of essays (“Musing Right Along” and “I’ll Be Right Back”), are available on Amazon. Jamie’s website is Musingjamie.net.